Forgotten
by KnightFury
Summary: Watson has made a new friend and Holmes is feeling a bit sorry for himself.
1. Fears and Doubts

I have seen that look on my Boswell's face before. I know what it means. I had hoped that this lifetime might be different, that he would not be so cruel that he could fall in love and forget me again. How can he do it? How can he just turn and walk away with this woman that he hardly knows hanging on his arm? How can he forget the plans that we have made for today? How can he simply forget all about me? Have I done something wrong?

I try to tell myself that this is not at all like last time. I shall still have John and Briar; I am not going to be all alone at Baker Street this time. All the same, my eyes are prickling slightly and there is a lump forming in my throat. Does Watson not know how I feel? Does he not care? The house is not a home when he is away from it - do I have to tell him as much, for him to know it?

"Hey!" Lestrade waves her hand in front of my face, causing me to blink and sniff as I rub at my eyes. "I was talking to you! ...Are you OK Sherlock?"

I sniff again and nod with a tight smile. I had forgotten that the Yarder was beside me.

She slips her arm about me and then rubs at my back. "What's wrong? Aren't you feeling so good?"

I shrug and try to catch one last glimpse of my selfish traitor of a friend as he walks away and am just in time to see him turn the corner at the end of the corridor.

If that woman hurts him, which women often do, he shall have only himself to blame. Furthermore, if she hurts him she shall have me to answer to! Watson is a good man - the best that I have ever encountered - she had better treat him well for her own sake!

"Holmes? Are you even listening to me?"

"I was thinking."

"Oh. Sorry. What were you thinking about? You looked pretty sad."

"Nothing of import," I respond with a shrug.

The interfering Yarder squeezes my arm. "Like zed it isn't important! I know you Sherlock. You don't just randomly look upset."

She would not understand! "Beth... Please..."

"Come on," she steps inside her office, but only to snatch up her keys. "We can't talk privately here."

"Are we meeting with John? He should be finished soon."

"No. Well, maybe later. We need a talk first. Where'd you like to go?"

I shrug my shoulders with a despondent sniff. "Does it matter?"

"Well, yeah!" she responds with impatience. "It has to be somewhere you can relax, where we won't be interrupted."

I know just the place! "Would Grayson not be somewhat angered?"

"Yeah, really angry. What d'you care? Not suddenly becoming a stickler for the rules, are you?"

Not really. I would prefer not to get her into trouble, all the same. I should try to look after my few remaining friends while I still have them.

"Well, come on then! Where the zed d'you wanna go?"

The quiet beach in Essex, with its dunes, pier and tea shops (and the beach hut of course) seems a perfect location, but I change my mind. It is the place that Watson and I visit together and it would not seem right if I were to show it to Beth Lestrade. I instead direct her to the quiet beach in Sussex near to which I once lived.

"Ah! So that's where you go to be alone, is it?" she smirks at me as we climb inside her car. "Are you gonna be too cold at the coast? It's always cooler away from the city and you look like you're already catching cold."

She is mistaken. All the same, I can see why she might think that. I shrug.

"I shall be all right. I have a coat," I assure her.

"One sneeze from you and we're finding someplace warmer. OK?"

I shrug again. "It is you that I answer to."

"Yeah, well... only officially, these days. We make too good a team to be on anything but equal footing. Zed Sherlock! What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She growls. "Holmes, I can't be your friend if you shut me out. Come on, what is it? You look... well... Oh, zed! I don't know! You just don't seem yourself. I haven't seen you like this since you were missing Watson."

I close my eyes and conceal a sob.

"You are sick! Zed! Maybe I should take you home."

I clear my throat. "I am not ill Beth. I am... just a little upset."

"OK. Well, we'll go stroll along your beach and talk then. Just tell me if you get too cold or decide you do feel bad after all, OK?"

"Of course."

My final home of my previous lifetime has not changed very much. It is cold though! Lestrade was quite right. She takes my arm and draws close to me as we make our way down to the beach.

"Are you feeling better?"

No. I stop walking and tilt my head back tiredly. How can I tell her what is wrong?

"I'll take that as a no then. Come on Sherlock! Talk to me. I'm not gonna judge you - you know that!"

"You know me too well."

"I like to think I know you well enough by now," she retorts. "Come on! Talk to me. I'm gonna get it all out of you in the end."

I sniff and look away. "You would think me ridiculous."

"Try me," she insists as her hand squeezes my arm.

I turn back to see that she is addressing me with a reassuring smile. She has not judged me harshly up until now; perhaps I should try to trust this Yarder.

"I am worried about Watson," I confess carefully. "This is the third day running that he has gone off with That Woman -"

"That Woman has a name Sherlock. She's called Chelsea."

"Hum! Poor woman," I respond. "I take it that her parents were either fond of buns, flowers or - most likely - of football. I suppose that she should be grateful that they do not support Brixton or Arsenal."

"I hope you aren't going to insult her. Watson wouldn't like that very much."

No, he would not. That would most likely play right into Chelsea's hands!

"So... Why don't you like her? Just because Watson does?"

"I am not jealous!"

She snorts. "Could've fooled me! I know how possessive you can be."

"Protective Beth. The word is protective."

"Whatever."

"I have every reason to want to keep Watson safe," I inform her firmly. "He does not realise how very treacherous women can be."

"Thanks Sherlock."

She would seem to be hurt! Have I said something wrong? "I did not mean to say that all women are. I know that I can trust you - and I do! With my life."

She pats my arm. "But you don't trust women generally."

"No."

"Why not?"

I freeze. I should have realised that that question was coming. "It hardly matters."

"I want to understand," she gives my arm another squeeze. "That's all. I only wanna understand."

I nod and find a place to sit. When we are both seated, Lestrade's thigh pressed close to mine (too close for my taste, but I know that her behaviour is meant to be comforting and reassuring) and her hand resting at my arm, I lower my head into my hands and hide my eyes with my long fingers.

"You can take your time Holmes. It's OK. I'm not gonna rush you."

I give another nod and lift my head to stare out to sea, watching the boats. Most of them are used for pleasure these days, though some of them are clearly working vessels which are out fishing. Slowly, I calm myself and collect my thoughts.

"Did Watson mention, in his journal entries, the poisoner of some little children?"

"There was more than one Sherlock. You and Watson came across a couple when you were working together."

I sniff and shake my head. "This one was only mentioned to Watson - he never encountered her."

"The most beautiful woman you ever met," she nods. "Yeah, I do remember; you mentioned her to try to put Watson off of Mary. You were jealous."

"I was not jealous!"

"You were scared he was gonna go off and get married and you'd never work together again."

There might be a sliver of truth in that. "I was much more afraid that Mary might turn into a completely different woman when he'd married her," I snap. "She might have hurt him and completely broken his spirit! You did not know him when he had just returned from Afghanistan - I did! The poor fellow!" I shake my head sadly and stare down at my hands as I clasp them within my lap. "The poor fellow," I repeat in but a whisper as my memories take over for a moment.

"You mean you were scared that he might get hurt... beyond repair?"

I nod and take a shaky breath. "I have never been so very glad to be wrong! When I saw that the dear chap had actually managed to gain some weight when he visited me soon after his marriage, I knew that he was well and in good, loving care. I could stop worrying then."

"So... That's all it was then? You were scared Watson would get hurt and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it?"

I nod. "That is it exactly. I do care about him you know! Granted, I missed him terribly, but I have only ever wanted what is best for him when all is said and done."

"Aw! And you say you aren't sweet! That's really sweet."

No it is most certainly not! "Watson is a good man. That is all."

"Watson chose the right match for him last time, so why can't you just trust his judgement? I mean, what makes you think Chelsea might not be good enough for him?"

"It is not Watson that I am unable to trust! Women can be the most inscrutable... the most..." I groan as words fail me. "Fenwick's lady friend - do you remember her?"

She snorts. "I'd say that her being Fenwick's creepy girlfriend just about says it all. Ugh!" she shudders. "I guess it proves that there really is someone for everyone..."

"Never mind that! My point is that she was cold, cruel and calculating; she cared not a jot about the men that she hurt or the lives that she destroyed. She was not averse to making - professing love falsely -"

"Yeah, well, like I said, she was Fenwick's girlfriend. What d'you expect Holmes?"

I expect far too much, obviously.

"It's not just her, is it? What's all this about?" she stares into my face. "Why d'you hate women so much?"

"I do not hate women! I simply..." with a groan I run a cold hand over my face. "That woman... The poisoner - the one that I mentioned before... She and I had been walking out together..."

"What?"

"Courting. We were courting Beth. You see, I blundered. I actually dared to think that somebody could actually love me... And I allowed myself to love her."

"Right OK... Slow down. The poisoner tricked you, she made you think she liked you..."

There is rather more to it than that! I sniff and look away. "There was talk of marriage."

"I'm real sorry Sherlock. But we aren't all like that you know," she smiles at me when I turn to face her. "I'll never treat you like that."

"Well no. Of course not. You and I are friends!"

She squeezes my hand. "Did you ever think about trying again? You know, allowing yourself to love again?"

I shake my head.

"Zed!" my friend growls. "I wish I could've met that... that..." she shakes her head and again squeezes my arm. "She really did hurt you, didn't she?"

I nod with my head bowed. I cannot look her in the eye. "In my era, marriage was very important. An engagement was important... I cannot express it, nor expect you to understand."

"I can try," she takes my hand in hers and gasps. "Your hands're like ice Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me you're getting so cold? I thought you agreed that you would! Did you bring gloves?"

I shake my head and give a shiver. "I am not that cold."

"Sure you aren't."

My hands are freezing due to my current emotional state - I would be just as cold on a hot day. "I am all right! You need not fret."

She sniffs and presses herself closer to me as her hands attempt to warm mine. "I can't help it if I care Sherlock. Like you said already, we're friends."

I nod and permit her to rest her head upon my shoulder. Her behaviour is much too forward for my personal taste, but I have seen many couples holding one another and kissing in a manner that would have been considered crude in my day.

"D'you feel OK?"

"Yes thank you. Do you?"

She pulls away to frown at me. "You don't have to be abrupt Sherlock."

I grimace. "My apologies my dear. I did not mean to behave dismissively."

"It's OK. I know you didn't mean it. But look Holmes, I'm here if you need me. OK?"

I nod and address her with a small smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she squeezes my hand and we lapse into companionable silence, each of us watching the waves as they crash upon the shore and the boats beyond.

"For what it's worth, I'll kill Chelsea if she hurts Watson," the Yarder announces at length.

"Hum... You might lose your job if you do."

"Zed! You know exactly what I mean Holmes."

"I do indeed. Your support is appreciated."

She smirks at me. "I should hope so. Actually, I think I'll give her a friendly warning when I see her next. It'll be better coming from me," she shivers and rubs at her arms. "Ready to go back yet?"

"Yes," I stand slowly and Lestrade wraps her arm about me.

"You're really cold! You always move slower and go all tense when you're too cold. Why didn't you say?"

Because I would then have to voice a different discomfort, no doubt caused in part by the chill in the air, and I would rather not. "I am all right."

"Like zed you are. Come on, let's go get a hot drink before we go back."

"Not off a barrow - van - please," I request quickly. If we are going to delay our return journey I should like an opportunity to pay a quick visit.

"Because you're cold, or because the drinks 'off the barrow' aren't as good as the ones you can get in a coffee house or tea shop?"

I resist the urge to stamp my feet. I do not wish to find out whether or not Lestrade can also recognise that tell. "Both."

"Zed! There's no need to bite my head off. What's the matter with you?"

I am feeling worse now that I am standing!

"Oh!" she grimaces and pats my arm. "Why don't you just tell me these things, instead o' suffering in zedding silence?"

Because I am not a man of this century! I could not discuss or casually mention at least half of the things that I have heard bandied about at the Yard.

"Come on, let's go find a tea shop," she slips her arm through mine and addresses me with a tight smile. "You know, you could just say you wanna... I dunno... 'disappear' or something," she adds as we easily fall into step.

I grimace. "You would know what I mean."

She laughs. "I can read your body language well enough anyway, so it doesn't make much difference."

I suppose that she is right. I am sure that I was better at concealing things in my own era - only my Boswell knew when something was amiss with me (and what was wrong) and I had always attributed that to his profession.

We have not been walking for long when we find a little tea shop and step inside. I throw chivalry to the wind and leave Lestrade to buy the hot drinks as I am horribly uncomfortable and doubt that I could stand still long enough.

"Feeling better?" the Yarder asks with a smile when I join her at the little table at which she is sitting.

Much, but does she really wish to know? "Hum," is all that I say in response.

"Are you feeling any warmer?" she clarifies as she pours some tea into a cup for me.

Ah! "Yes thank you. I have warmed my hands nicely." Lestrade does not have to know more than that either.

"Yeah, I bet you had to," she mutters with a sympathetic grimace. "Your hands were freezing!"

I avert my gaze and turn my attention to my steaming tea cup.

"Sorry Holmes. So... Are you going back to New Scotland Yard, or d' you want me to drop you off at Baker Street?"

I am feeling weary - no doubt another reaction to the chill in the air - but I do not wish to go home to an empty house. "I shall look at the cold cases," I decide.

"Don't wanna go home then?"

I shake my head and suppress a shiver as I sip at my tea. It is good, though the steam would appear to be causing my chilled nose to run.

Lestrade frowns when I sniff. "Are you OK?"

"My nose is thawing," I respond in an attempt to explain before giving it a quiet blow into my handkerchief.

She nods and pats my hand. "Just so long as that's all it is. John'll be mad if I let you get sick."

John would blame me, as he knows how stubborn I can be, and she knows that well enough. No, she is worried about me and not the robot's reaction.

"Are you OK Sherlock? You're still very quiet."

I wipe at my running nose and nod. "I am still thinking about Watson. I do not want to watch him get hurt."

"Neither do I," she squeezes my hand. "But sometimes you just have to let the people you care about live their own lives and learn by their own mistakes. Besides, we'll always be around to pick the pieces up if things go wrong and marriage doesn't have to be forever these days. It's not such a big deal."

"It is to Watson."

She sighs. "Yeah. Yes, I know. You can take a guy outta the Victorian era, but I guess you can't get the era outta the guy, huh?"

"Something like that," I address her with a small smile.

She gives my hand another squeeze and then pats it. "I don't wanna see you hurt either. I don't understand Watson! He knows how much you missed him..."

My eyes prickle in response and I hastily raise my handkerchief to my nose and feign a stifled sneeze.

"Are you OK?" she asks with concern.

I raise a finger as I wipe at my weeping eyes. "It was one sneeze, easily stifled; it is not an indication of anything amiss."

Lestrade shakes her head. "Yeah, OK; don't go all defensive about it. I care, OK? Besides, you get just as concerned when I'm sick."

That cannot be denied and I quietly confess that she speaks the truth. "But you live alone - of course I am going to fret! And not without good reason. After all, you tend not to rest when you are unwell."

"Ha! Just listen to the pot calling the kettle black! Who was it that decided, after just four days o' being sick with the 'flu, that he was well enough to get up and go out?"

I grimace at the memory. I had been a very difficult and restless patient and had not helped my recovery at all. I have been told that I was fortunate to have made a complete recovery at all. I could quite easily have weakened my constitution dreadfully.

"My apologies Lestrade."

She shakes her head. "I don't know where you found the energy to be stubborn with, but you really should've let John and I care for you."

"Yes, I know. I..." I lower my gaze to the contents of the cup in my hands. "To be truthful, I do not believe that I was thinking very much about my recovery. I seldom do."

"You were grieving at the time," she reflects with another squeeze of my hand. "I guess it's pretty unfair to expect you to care too much about yourself when you're going through something like that."

This time around, I am unable to conceal the fresh tears without the Yarder seeing them.

"Zed Sherlock!" She pours me a second cup of tea and watches me drink it with quiet concern. "Look, if you feel like that, I think you should go home. Finish your tea and I'll take you back."

We enter an empty house at Baker Street and make our way upstairs to the sitting room. While I light the fire and retrieve some rugs from the airing cupboard, Lestrade (none too politely) excuses herself to the washroom. I do not need to know what she desires or needs to do therein, nor how uncomfortable she is! Have I taught her nothing?

"That's better," the inspector remarks as she takes to the settee. Is she talking about the warmth in the room, now that the fire is lit? I shall assume that she is.

I hand her one of the rugs and curl myself into my chair, huddling beneath a rug of my own with a cold shiver.

"Are you sure you're OK?"

I nod and address her with a small smile. "Do you not think that you should return to work?"

She shrugs. "I'll pull a Quirk 'n' say that I had a family emergency. My grandmother's sick and I was in too much of a state to think clearly enough to tell anyone what was up..."

"You should not lie!"

"Why not? Everybody else lies to their boss."

I frown at her. "I can assure you that I would never do such a thing."

"OK, I'll tell Grayson the truth then - you were upset so I tried to help. Which story do you want me to tell him?"

"I hope that your grandmother makes a swift recovery. What is wrong with her?"

She smiles. "I thought you'd agree."

The Yarder stays with me until John returns from his check-up and then returns to work despite the compudroid's insistence that she should stay for lunch ("It is only twenty minutes past one Lestrade; I am sure that the Yard can spare you for a little longer. You must be starving!"). I see her out, thanking her quietly for her support, and watch her drive away.

The hour is late when Watson remembers where he lives. The fellow has been drinking and swears profusely, dropping his shoes in surprise, when he flicks the light on to find me sitting up and blinking sleepily at him from my makeshift bed upon the settee.

"Holmes! What the deuce are you doing there? Lying in wait for me?"

I yawn rather loudly (I have, after all, just had my sleep disturbed) and sniff. "I assumed that you would be out all night. I have been up until after one o'clock - and what o'clock is it now? It must be approaching dawn!"

"We have been dancing the night away," he informs me with a shrug. "Have you ever heard of the warp step? It is tremendous fun!"

"I still prefer ballroom dancing myself."

"You should try something new now and again Holmes!"

He should say that again while he is sober and listen to himself! "And you should go to bed."

"I am not tired! I have a better constitution than yours when love is my energy."

"You, my dear Watson, are drunk."

"Perhaps I am," he retorts with a bright smile. "But I feel marvellous!"

I groan and rub at my forehead. "You are no doubt going to have a marvellous hangover when the drink wears off. I would recommend some water, followed by sleep."

He dismisses my advice with a wave of his hand and totters away to the washroom without even remembering to close the door behind himself. I do not recall ever seeing my Boswell in such a condition before and I know not whether I am the more concerned or angry. It matters not. I have given the fellow my advice and the rest is up to him. Besides, I am tired. I pull the rugs that cover me closer with a shiver and permit myself to return to slumber. John can tend to him in the morning if he is ill.


	2. Anger and Support

The alarm on my pocket telephone wakes me at half past seven and I stare at the screen through blurry, sleepy eyes. Oh yes, I am supposed to retrieve Briar from the Winters family this morning. I dismiss the alarm and its accompanying reminder and wash and dress quickly. I can hardly wait to see the dog again!

John is already up and brings me a cup of tea and the offer of breakfast, along with a reminder that the setter is due to come home today.

"I know. I have also missed him," I reply. "If I had my way, Briar would have accompanied us during our case in Canada. As a matter of fact, his nose would have been of help."

"By the time he had been through quarantine, we would have been due to go home," the robot responds with a frown. "It was not possible Holmes."

I shrug. "I did not say that it was old chap - it was only wishful thinking."

He smiles and pats my arm. "Would you like me to drive you?"

I shake my head. "Watson may need you. He..." I had better not tell John that he was drinking! "He did not seem well when he came home."

The robot snorts. "Overtiredness, I expect. At what hour did he come home? We were still awake at one AM!"

"I did not look at the time. I was rather muddled with sleep."

"Perfectly understandable Holmes," he assures me. "Fear not, I shall take good care of Watson."

Mrs. Winters has Briar's bags packed when I arrive at her family home and step inside. I am pleased to hear that he behaved himself well and did not miss us too much. I had worried that he might fret and go off his food.

"He did cry a bit after you left," she tells me. "But Freddie and Paul soon cheered him up. He's good with kids."

Briar yaps happily and wags his tail.

"We introduced him to children, disabled individuals and so on as a part of his training," I explain. "One never knows who a working dog may encounter and it would never do for him to take fright and threaten a vulnerable individual."

"Oh no! Of course not," she agrees. "I've got to say that you trained him well - we had him finding hidden treats, shoes... Well, the kids gave his nose a good workout."

"Excellent! I must thank them."

She hands me a cup of tea. "And how was Canada? Scott said that you needed us to hold onto your dog for a few more days, but not why."

"Canada was..." Exhausting! "...the case was a little trying; as was the travel."

"I can imagine, Mr. Holmes. Well, anyway, it was a pleasure to have Briar. The kids didn't want him to go."

All the same, it was kind of them to take the fellow in at short notice and I say as much as I hand over a small box of chocolates.

"Oh, you didn't have to get us anything!"

I shrug. "We wanted to. They are from all of us, you know."

"Well, thank you."

With that, it is time to be on my way. I take Briar's leash in one hand, put his bag over my shoulder and go out to the car. The cheeky fellow immediately jumps up onto the front passenger seat when I open the door to toss in his bag and wags his tail at me.

"No Briar; you know your place. On the floor - go on!" I point at the foot well and frown at him. "Go on. Off!"

With a dejected sigh he settles himself in the space in front of the seat, onto which I toss the bag. As an afterthought I secure it through the straps with the seat belt to ensure that it will not fall on the dog should I have to make any sudden stops. I then climb inside the car and strap myself into the driver's seat.

Watson is stretched upon the settee when Briar and I enter the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. He does not look well, but he does not appear to be as ill as I had feared.

"He was sick when I woke him," John whispers. "I moved him down here so that I could keep an eye on him. He is looking better than he was, at least."

I nod, not quite sure whether I am angry with the fellow for getting himself into such a state or filled with concern and sympathy. "Thank you John."

"You are welcome Holmes. Now, let me see... I have given him plenty of water and allowed him to sleep. I can also tell you that he is not fevered."

I pat his arm and praise him for a job well done.

"Do you know why he was out so late last night?"

I groan and rub at my temple. "The woman that he has been walking out with - Chelsea - wanted to show him something new."

The robot shakes his head. "You are both supposed to be recovering from jet lag!"

"You would be amazed at Watson's stamina when he is anxious to impress a lady friend," I remark, half-humourously.

John snorts again. "Well, I am keeping him in today. He looks dreadful!"

Watson groans. "'He' can hear you. What is the time?"

"High time that you rested old fellow," I reply gently. "John is quite right - you do look terribly unwell."

"I am all right! Really Holmes! You have no right to tell me that I fret and fuss too much."

As he gingerly sits up I take to his side. "How are you?"

"Thirsty, I think."

I pour some water into a glass and hand it over. I hope that he is not going to be sick again!

Watson takes two sips and then grimaces. "Would you excuse me?"

"What's wrong?" I ask with rather more concern in my tone than I would like.

"I have to pay a visit Holmes," he retorts impatiently. "If you would be so kind..."

Ah. "Of course Watson." I help him to his feet and watch my Boswell totter unsteadily in the vague direction of the washroom.

"Let me help," John offers as he stands and hastens to his side to wrap a supportive arm about him. "You seem to be a little unsteady."

That is putting it mildly! I hope that the fellow shall think twice before he puts himself through this again. I run a hand over my eyes and lean back to rest my head on the back of the settee, suddenly finding that I am dreadfully tired.

I am dozing with Briar on my lap when John and Watson return.

"Briar!" John shouts, causing both me and the dog to jump. "Get down at once!"

Watson groans as the dog leaps from my lap and cowers beneath the coffee table. "Please... Not so loud! My head..."

"My apologies old boy. Are you all right?"

The fellow staggers back to my side and I assist him in s sitting down. "I will be. Thank you Holmes."

"Not at all Watson," I squeeze his arm and address him with a smile.

"You look weary," he remarks with a frown. "Could you not sleep?"

How could I? I am still a light sleeper and Watson made no less than four visits to the washroom during the night.

"Poor Holmes," the fellow mumbles, taking my failure to answer as a reply in itself. He rests his head at my shoulder in a drowsy manner and pats my arm.

With a sigh I close my eyes and permit myself to settle down at his side. I hear John put some soothing music on to play and know no more for quite a while.

When I awake, it is to the sound of angry voices. Chelsea has arrived and is shouting abuse at our robotic friend.

"Look, you useless pile of scrap metal," she is snarling, "John and I made plans to go out tonight."

"As you saw when you came in, he is unwell," the compudroid responds coldly. "If you cared for him at all you would let him rest for at least a day or two."

Bravo John!

She snorts impatiently. "And who're you? His mother?"

Now that is below the belt!

"John is his concerned friend," I snap as I gather the rugs that I have been swathed with about me and stagger none too elegantly to my feet. "He is also quite right; if you do care for Watson, you would have no desire to allow him to become worse."

"He says that rest is all he needs."

I shrug with my hands. "Then allow him to rest."

She snorts again. "And I'm guessing you're his zedding doctor."

"I am Sherlock Holmes," I inform her coldly. "Watson is my closest and dearest friend."

She smirks at me. "Yeah, I know who you are. You're telling me I'm selfish, but how d'you treat him, huh?"

I feel my eyes prickle and turn away. She is right; I have not treated my Boswell very much better in the past.

"Holmes would never drag Watson out with him while he was unwell," John argues with a shake of his head as he folds his arms.

Not deliberately, no; there were occasions when I did overlook signs that he was ailing and came to regret that later, however. All the same, I can see John's point - there is a very clear difference between our treatment of our friend and hers.

Unable to listen to more, I seek out my companion of old. He is up in his bedroom, curled upon his bed and looking utterly miserable.

"Watson?" I approach his side slowly, cautiously, and rest a tentative hand upon his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

I hear him sniff. "Go away Holmes."

His words sting much more than I should ever wish to admit. I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat and blink. "Would you be rid of me?"

He slowly rolls over to face me and I can see that he has been crying.

I seat myself beside him and touch his arm. "What is it old fellow?"

"Chelsea is angry and upset with me," he whispers. "I forgot that we had made arrangements to go out again."

I frown and shake my head. "It is not like you to be forgetful." Unlike him! It is unheard of!

"I know Holmes. Furthermore, I am not quite sure just how much further my money can stretch - and I still owe you for half of the week's shopping..."

I shake my head and dismiss that concern with a reassuring smile and flick of my fingers. "Never mind the shopping; I have ample money to cover it."

"That is beside the point Holmes."

I squeeze his arm. "It is you that I am worried about."

He nods and sniffs. "I know... And I have treated you so poorly of late."

"Oh! Hardly that!" I assure him. "Hardly that. Besides, I did not always treat you very well in the past."

"That is not a good excuse old fellow."

I shrug. "And what excuse, tell me, did I have?"

He shrugs in turn and smiles at me.

"That is better," I remark as I pat his arm.

He sniffs again and gives a shiver. "What brought you here?"

"You of course," I retort as I jump from the bed and crouch at his hearth to light a fire. "I wanted to see that you are all right."

"I am all right Holmes."

He does not sound it. With the fire lit, I return to his side. "I think," I say as I remove his shoes, "that you should get under your covers old fellow. I can see that you are cold."

He hisses and twitches his foot as my fingers graze his skin. "So are you - your hands are like ice!"

"Sorry Watson. Yes they would be; I am tired."

"I expect you are," he mumbles as I help him into his bed. "I seem to recall disturbing you last night, now that you come to mention it. Sorry Holmes."

I pat his shoulder. "It was not your fault."

"If you say so," he sniffs. "I am sorry, never the less."

"Quite all right. Try to rest now."

He nods and then frowns. "Is Chelsea still shouting at John?"

"Yes," I listen a moment and then groan. I thought I had heard the front and hall doors slam and footsteps on the stairs to the sitting room. "It would seem that our Lestrade has joined the fray as well."

"You are not going to get any peace downstairs then," he mutters as he makes room for me. "Come on; there is plenty of room if you lie on your side."

I stretch out above his covers with my rugs covering me somewhat haphazardly. "Thank you."

"I am sorry that I have not found more time for you," the fellow whispers with a yawn. "But Chelsea missed me terribly while we were in Canada and I had to make it up to her. And now I have let her down again."

"You have not let her down! You are unwell."

I feel him shiver. "I had too much to drink."

"Which you never do," I respond. "Why did you drink so much last night?"

"I don't know Holmes."

"Yes you do."

He groans. "You would tell me that Chelsea does me no good."

"It is none of my business," I respond quickly. "But I do wish for you to be safe and happy. At the end of the day Watson, you know what is and is not good for you."

"Yes." I feel him fidget behind me. "If I was one of your clients..."

"I would ask you if you are happy."

He sniffs again. "I should talk to her."

"Yes, but not right now; you are in need of rest. You sound as if you have a cold."

He squirms closer to me. "I am only tired."

I roll onto my back (very carefully - our beds are both rather narrow) and look into his face. "Yes, I expect that you are. The thing is that you are going to become unwell if you do not rest. Now would you please go to sleep Watson."

He gives me a weak smile and closes his eyes. "It has been quite a while since you last gave me an order."

"It was not an order; I said 'please' - therefore it was a request. However, if you do not cease your chatter and at least attempt to sleep, I am liable to lose my temper."

The fellow smirks at me and closes his eyes, though he does still seem to be restless; no doubt the lack of restful sleep has brought on insomnia.

I close my eyes in turn and begin to control my breathing to induce a yawn. Fatigued as I am, it is not difficult.

Almost immediately, my companion yawns in response and draws closer to me with a sniffle. I know not which of us falls asleep first.


	3. On the Case

I awake standing in the sitting room with John talking to me. I do not walk in my sleep! What is happening to me? Ah, wait... I recall awaking in Watson's room with the realisation that I had to visit the washroom - I must have been so tired that I made my way down the stairs to do so whilst in the trance of the half-asleep. I am now in the sitting room with the discreet door at my back.

"Are you even listening to me Holmes?"

I rub a hand across my eyes. "What?"

"Are you all right old boy? You look almost as ill as poor Watson did when I woke him this morning!"

I nod and sniff. My nose feels uncomfortably dry. "I am still tired."

"Yes, you should rest; Lestrade did say that that is the only thing that will cure jet lag."

"What is jet lag anyway?" I mumble with another sniff. "Presumably it is an ailment that is spread in the air conditioning of the shuttles."

He laughs. "Oh, no! No, it is not a thing that is caught. It is simply a reaction to the body clock becoming confused."

"Then surely the best cure would be to sleep at the appropriate hour?"

He smiles and guides me to the settee. "If you force yourself to stay awake all the day, you would most assuredly find sleep all the more difficult when night comes. You should sleep when you feel able to do so for now, as I am sure I have already told both you and Watson - as has Lestrade, I would seem to recall."

I nod and yawn into my hand. I then cough as my throat protests that it is dry.

"You are ill!" John sits at my side and places a hand upon my shoulder. "What is wrong?"

I shake my head and sniff again. "I am merely thirsty."

"Oh! Well yes, of course, you would be; you were asleep for quite a while. What would you like? Tea?"

I nod and stretch myself upon the settee the moment that the robot is on his feet. I am not as desperately in need of sleep as I was, but I do still feel somewhat weary. All the same, I have felt worse than this and I know that an interesting case is all that I need.

After a sip or two of the restorative drink that the kindly robot presents to me, I realise that I do in fact have a case - the woman named Chelsea and the question of what she could possibly want with my Boswell. From what I have seen of her, she does not love my dear friend; if this is indeed the truth, why is she walking out with the fellow?

The first thing that I do is take my tea to the communicator to ring up Lestrade.

"Hi Holmes," she greets me cheerfully before frowning at my image. "You have got a cold - your eyes are all puffy!"

I have not! "I feel fine," I assure her somewhat abruptly. "What I have is a muddled body clock, apparently."

"Yeah, jet lag. You need to be careful though; it's easier to get sick when you're tired and stuff. You need to see that you rest plenty."

I am always careful! As careful as my profession permits, in any case. "All right. Really Lestrade! I do not require coddling!"

She holds up her hands. "Sorry Sherlock. I'm real sorry if I offended you. What was it you were calling about?"

I take a calming sip of my tea. "Chelsea."

"Oh," the Yarder grimaces. "Has she come back? I told her to let you 'n' Watson rest if she didn't want a restraining order filed against her."

"You did what?" I must confess that I am rather shocked.

She shrugs. "You aren't the only one that can be a little overly protective, I guess. Besides, I was angry."

I cannot help but chuckle. "Thank you. It is nice to know that we have your support."

"You've always got my support! You, Watson and John are my best friends. I'm not gonna let you down."

I thank her with a smile. "What can you tell me about her?"

She shrugs. "She's prettier than me?"

Hum! "That is debatable."

"She started working at the Yard as a receptionist about two months ago, so she's still on probation. I could lose her her job, if she hurts you guys."

That might be useful to know, as a last resort. The threat might put her off.

"Is that how she met Watson?" she asks.

I nod and suppress a cold shiver. "Yes. She introduced herself to us and became somewhat flirtatious towards Watson - who was flattered."

"Aw, come on! Cut the guy some slack! I mean, you don't say no to a woman's attention."

I grimace. "I certainly do not encourage it either." Not even when I had just been rejuvenated, and felt so much younger than I had been accustomed to, did I behave in such a manner. I would have been offended had a woman like Chelsea addressed me with some of the expressions that she has directed at my Boswell. Admittedly, I might also have been somewhat confused at first, but I have myself under control now.

"Yeah, OK. I know you don't - don't get upset," she smiles at me. "Anything else you need to know?"

"Aside from Watson, does she have many friends?"

"I don't know. I'll find out, if you want," she frowns at me. "What's all this about?"

I tense as the sound of Watson's footsteps reach my ears from upstairs. "Could we discuss that over lunch?"

"Lunch? Shouldn't you be resting?"

I smile and shake my head. "I am too restless for sleep and we must eat. I shall meet you at... does one o'clock suit you?"

"One o'clock's fine," she assures me with a bright smile. "I know a nice, quiet café if you're interested. How hungry are you?"

"Quite hungry. Why do you ask?"

"There's an all you can eat Chinese place I go to sometimes."

How does she remain so slim? "No, I think not. I would not say no to an Italian or French meal though."

"I don't do snails," she says with a grimace. "Ugh..."

"Neither do I," I assure her quickly. "Nor frogs' legs."

She shudders. "Frogs' legs! Ugh! No, not French Sherlock. Italian it is, huh?"

"Italian it is then," I agree readily. "But really Lestrade, French cuisine is not all 'frogs and snails and puppy dogs' tails'; it really is the very finest food in Europe."

"In your day maybe," she retorts. "You described what the British food was like."

I sniff. "It depended upon where one went. Country inns seldom offered good food - unlike these days, the food would often be prepared by the landlord or lady, not by a hired chef, and they often knew no more about cooking than I did."

She laughs. "I'll have to find you a nice country pub then, next time we've got a chance."

"Hum. Very well then." I am not at all sure about that.

She smiles. "Meet me at work in the car park at one then. I'll be waiting."

The inspector is true to her word. She is waiting for me under the awning, that once acted as shelter for the smokers (before tobacco became an illegal drug), out of the rain. She waves to me as I land my car and has almost reached it before the passenger door is open.

"In you get Lestrade," I smile at her as I turn up the heating. "How are you? You look quite chilled to the bone! Where is your coat?"

She shrugs and wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "At my apartment."

"Beth!" I shake my head and slam my eyes shut. "You tell me that I should have a care, but you seldom think to so much as bring a coat or umbrella to work with you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know; I forgot. The sun was shining and I was going by car anyway."

I frown at her from the corner of my eye. "Hum."

"Don't start, OK? I'll make a deal with you - I won't fuss if you won't."

That sounds reasonable and I agree. "Now, where are we going?"

"Luigi's," she replies and gives me the address and directions.

Luigi's may not sound particularly grand, and the interior is certainly not as opulant as a restaurant of my era, but it is not a 'burger bar' either. There are candles on the tables, which our waiter lights for us when we are seated. The Italians can be as hopelessly romantic as the French.

"What would you like, Sherlock?" my friend enquires as we each browse the menu. "Pizza?"

"Is the smallest pizza truly eighteen inches across?" I ask, somewhat taken aback. I am not that hungry!

"Think you could manage a half of one?"

I think that I could.

"OK," Lestrade beams at the waiter. "We'll have a regular pizza, topped with anchovies, olives, extra cheese..." she glances at me, "and extra tomato, please."

"Any chilli, inspector?"

She shakes her head and gives him another smile. "I don't know if Mr. Holmes 'd like it much. He likes to be able to taste every ingredient. We'll have a side order of your cheesy potato wedges though."

I smile at her, suddenly feeling oddly shy. I am a private man, but 'shy' is hardly a word that could usually be used to describe me. I suppose I simply find the knowledge that this woman knows me as well (or possibly even better than) my Boswell does slightly unnerving on occasion.

"And to drink, you will have cola?"

She nods. "Yeah, a coke for me and... What d'you want, Holmes?"

"I shall have a glass of red wine."

The inspector nods as the waiter walks away. "It's supposed to be good for you, I've been told."

"In moderation, many things are," I respond with a smile. "Even water can kill a fellow, were he to have too much."

"Can we talk about something a little less horrible over lunch, please?"

By all means. I shrug and lean forward. "We came here to discuss Watson's lady friend."

"Yeah, now what's going on there?" the Yarder asks. "I thought everything was fine between those two."

"I don't know," I shake my head sadly. "Everything seemed to be going well until we had that case in Canada - she tried to make Watson (persuade him, I mean) to stay here in London. Since we came home, she has become somewhat demanding."

"How, exactly?"

I run a hand over my face. "Calling him up late at night, making claims that Watson arranged to meet her (when I am quite sure that he did no such thing)... She did that again yesterday - you were there - she said that the fellow had arranged to go somewhere for lunch and that was it."

"Aw, come on Sherlock..."

I shake my head. "You do not understand! It was approaching dawn when the chap came home and he was intoxicated. And I do mean to the point of slurring speech and staggering about."

"Oh. That doesn't sound like Watson."

"Indeed not. I have seen him drunk before, but never like that."

She grimaces. "John did say he was sick, but he didn't say he was hungover."

"No; that would be because he would have been angry with Watson and the poor fellow has suffered quite enough. If you tell John -"

"I won't," she interrupts hastily. "You're right. Watson's had enough upset for one day. Here's our drinks - sure you don't wanna try some coke?"

I grimace. "It is rather sweet for my taste. If I want caffeine, I shall have tea or coffee."

She shrugs and sips her cola. "How's your wine?"

"Warming."

"Yeah, of course. You're still all tired and feeling cold; you really should be at home."

Ha! "I am not really the sort of fellow that can sprawl about at home when I have a case; I want to know what Chelsea's game is."

Lestrade shrugs. "Maybe she just doesn't wanna be forced to fight for Watson against you, Sherlock."

"Fight for him?"

"Yeah, you know; being forgotten every time you say 'danger'," she smirks at me. "D'you know how many times he left Mary without warning because you asked him to come with you, or he thought you might need him? I've read his journals - the answer is that she put up with more than most wives would've."

I nod and avert my gaze. How I wish that Mrs. Watson could be reunited with my Boswell, but she would find him much changed and I have no doubt that he would worry. Watson and I grew old together, while Mary died when she was still very young. It is rather sad.

"Are you OK?"

I nod and sniff. "Watson deserves better," I remark quietly. "A good, honest and selfless lifetime companion - somebody like his dear wife Mary."

Lestrade narrows her violet eyes at me. "What about you?"

I shrug. "I must learn to share."

She laughs. "Yeah, I guess so. That's not what I meant though; what I mean is -"

I know exactly what she means!

"- don't you think you deserve happiness? What do you want?"

"Companionship is all that I have ever wanted."

She nods. "I know what you mean. A man'd want me to cook and clean and bring up the kids. He wouldn't want me chasing down criminals - he'd expect me to work part-time in an office, or get a job I can do from home."

"It would be a terrible waste of your talents."

"Thanks Sherlock," she beams at me across the table. "But you'd be OK. A woman wouldn't expect her man to change."

I roll my eyes to the ceiling in a silent plea for Gods's help. "You shall find, my dear Lestrade, that most women are not like you; they want safety, security... What could I possibly offer to anyone? I am not even very affectionate!"

"When you meet the right one, stuff like affection'll come naturally," she assures me as she reaches across the table to take and squeeze my hand. "You'll see."

I shake my head. "I do not see myself as the sort of man that could marry and settle down."

"Who says you have to settle down? Long as you're faithful - which, let's face it, you are -"

"Oh, Beth!" I hide my face in my hands. "A wife would expect me home at certain times -"

"Mrs. Winters doesn't! Scott works all hours and she knows it."

Mrs. Winters is a saint. I lower my hands slowly. "She would expect me to sleep. To... to go to bed."

"Well, yeah. That's kinda normal. We've already been over the benefits o' sleeping."

I shudder and hide my eyes again. "She would expect to be... kissed... and so forth."

"That bothers you? I already said - it'll come naturally when you meet the right person. Really it will."

I sniff quietly and lower my hands (and my eyes). "I have been kissed, but I have never instigated it."

My friend frowns at me. "So what? You want lessons?"

I laugh nervously. "Of course not! I simply wish for you to understand why I should prefer to live with a man. A man would not expect so much of me."

She again reaches across the table and pats my hand. "It's OK. I do understand. You don't want a lover, you just need a friend or two."

"Precisely." It is all that I have ever wanted. Love tends to complicate matters far too much.

The discussion ends when our pizza arrives and we set to with enthusiasm. Lestrade certainly knows what I like! This is delicious. The salty flavour of the anchovies compliment the olives beautifully, while the tomatoes cut through both.

"Feel better?" my friend asks once I have had my share and settled back in my seat.

A little. "Yes, thank you. I was hungry."

She nods and smiles at me. "I thought you had to be; you didn't eat much at the Yard yesterday."

I shrug and conceal a yawn. "Would you excuse me?"

"Sure. D'you know where the bathroom is?"

I grimace in response to her question. "I am sure that I can find it. Excuse me."

The cloakrooms prove to be easily found and I gratefully lock myself away. My mind is whirling now. Lestrade's questions about what I want have caused me to wonder about that myself.

What do I want? I believed that I wanted only companionship before my retirement and yet I was intolerably lonely when I moved to Sussex while Watson remained in London. There were moments when I would picture myself with a wife and children, quite grown up by then of course, and wondered whether I had made the right decision. It was far too late by that time, however, and I simply put it out of my mind. Besides, what do I have to offer a wife?

I feel better once I have washed my hands and face and so I quietly return to our table.

"Feeling OK?" the Yarder asks as I take to my seat opposite her.

I shrug and conceal a yawn. "I need some coffee, that is all."

She frowns at me. "Not two potfuls of the stuff, OK? It doesn't do you any good."

Indeed not. "I have never had more than a cup or two deliberately; I simply forget what I am doing when my mind is on more important things. Besides, if there is a stimulant to hand..." I shrug and give her a small smile.

"It's a wonder you don't notice," my friend remarks with a grimace. "I know how I'd feel after drinking all that! I've had a cup o' your coffee - you could dissolve the spoon in it!"

"Hardly that!" I snap. "But, while we are on the subject of coffee, I think that I shall order one. Would you like one?"

"Sure. Cappuccino, please."

What I want is a strong, black coffee and I tell her as much. "How would one ask for that?"

She smiles. "Allow me. I speak 'coffee house'."

A rousing cup of coffee later, the inspector and I are bound for New Scotland Yard. I should like to speak with Chelsea, though Lestrade insists that I should allow her to do the talking.


	4. Chelsea

"Oh, it's you," Chelsea growls as we approach her desk. "What do you want?" she adds as she sets down the folder in her hands to cross her arms.

If she means to intimidate us she is to be disappointed.

Lestrade smiles. "Hi Chelsea. How're you settling in?"

"Don't try being all friendly now. Zed off Yardie!"

"That is not a very pleasant way to speak to someone you know," I inform her quietly.

"You can zed off as well Holmes. Go on. I'm working here you zed heads! You had your chance to talk to me when I came over, but all you, your walking tin can and your girlfriend here wanted to do was fight. Well, I've got more important things to do now than talk to any of you, so you can just zed off."

Charming.

"By the way, me 'n' John 're going out tonight," she informs us with a smug smile. "You just try and stop him! He loves me."

"Come on Holmes," Lestrade takes me by the arm and drags me back to her office.

"Lestrade," I protest quietly as we walk away, "I did wish to talk to her."

She frowns at me, wrinkling her nose. "She was trying to upset you."

I cannot help but laugh. "I am not easily upset my dear. Hum, I think that I should warn John that our friend means to drag Watson out again tonight though. He does need to rest. If Chelsea loved him -"

"Yeah, exactly - she's horrible!" she rants as she slams the door of her office. "What does Watson see in her?"

I shrug. "She tends to be very nice when she is with Watson - I very much doubt that he could picture her using bad language or insulting our John."

"No, probably not."

"He is already beginning to think that they need to talk, however..."

Lestrade snorts. "What he needs to do is to slow down. So do you. You were supposed to get some rest when you came home."

I shake my head. "Idling tires me. Do you have any idea how much energy boredom wastes?"

She laughs at that. "OK, OK. I don't like being bored either. So... What now?"

"Well, you have quite ruined my idea of questioning her."

The inspector cringes. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"What has happened to you lately? You never used to worry so very much about my feelings."

"I guess it was hearing you talk about that poisoner and your concerns for Watson," she replies quietly. "I'd never known how sensitive you can be, behind that mask o' yours."

I avert my gaze, suddenly feeling very exposed. Perhaps I should not have told her how I felt; I am not even sure why I did.

"You OK?"

I nod and force a smile to my lips.

"I guess I could get Scott on board," she offers. "He won't ask questions; if we tell him we think she's up to no good, that'll be enough for him."

I nod and sniff quietly. "Yes, Winters could prove to be useful. Is he here?"

"He should be. Ha! I saw that yawn! Go 'n' curl up in that chair over there - it's what I do when I've had a late night. Go on, it's OK; nobody'll know."

I curl myself into the comfortable chair that Lestrade has pointed to and pull my cape over me for warmth. I am freezing!

"Poor old Holmes," I hear Winters' voice remark suddenly, pulling me from a dreamless slumber that I had not even realised that I had fallen into. "He looks exhausted."

"Well, he would be," Lestrade retorts. "He's worrying himself sick over Watson."

Thank you Beth. How much have you told him?

"Well, I'm not surprised if you both think his girlfriend's up to no good. You take care o' Holmes and I'll take care of her - if she's up to something, I'll soon find out."

Not too much then. Good!

"Thanks Scott."

The door opens and quietly closes. I allow myself to return to sleep.

I awake slowly. Lestrade is sitting at her computer, but her eyes are fixed on me. "Hey there! Feeling OK?"

I nod and stretch my arms and shoulders. "Not as tired."

"I should hope so," she retorts with a smile. "Want a cup of tea?"

I sniff and pull my cape closer. "Yes please."

She nods and gives my face an appraising sweep of her eyes. "I won't be long."

It is not until the door has closed that I remember that I dislike the pond water that is supposed to be New Scotland Yard tea. Well, it is too late now; I shall have to drink it.

"Sherlock?"

I groan and open my eyes with a sniff.

"Tea?"

I take the offered insulated cup and remove the lid. "You bought this from the coffee house down the road."

"You hate the Yard's tea," she shrugs. "I figured that was a better idea."

"It is very kind of you. Thank you."

Her face lights up and she pulls her desk chair to my side. "You're welcome."

I adjust the Inverness about me so that I can drink. Oh! This is strong and good! I sniff and hastily wipe at my nose with the handkerchief from my pocket as the steam causes it to run.

"You're cold!" Lestrade stands quickly and checks the heating. "How warm is it at Baker Street, normally?"

I shrug. "My bedroom is often freezing; there is no fireplace."

"It shouldn't feel cold in here then," she remarks with a concerned frown. "It's twenty-one degrees right now."

I make the calculation to convert it into Fahrenheit. Yes, that should indeed be a comfortable temperature.

"I'll turn it up a little. What temperature do you set the heater to in your car?"

I shrug. "Between twenty and twenty-five, I believe. John usually adjusts it for Watson and I."

"Yeah, I've noticed that he can tell when someone isn't warm enough."

I suppress a cold shiver and attempt to warm my hands on the polystyrene cup within my grasp.

"Zed Sherlock! I hope you aren't getting sick," my friend returns to my side and presses a hand to my forehead with a frown.

"I feel all right! Really Lestrade!"

She nods, though her eyes continue to sweep over my face. "Sorry. It's just... I don't wanna have to nurse you back to health again; I'll never forget that time you had the 'flu."

"That was before I had been given any inoculations! Furthermore, it was the first illness that I had contracted; I have not been nearly as unwell since."

She smiles and resumes her seat at my side. "Yeah, I guess you're right; I just don't wanna ever see you like that again. It was scary."

God, give me strength! "Why do you worry so much?"

"Why d'you worry about Watson?"

I shrug and look away.

"Exactly Holmes," she pats my shoulder. "He's your friend; you can't help it."

I sniff and shrug again. "I have had him back for three years now - I should know by now that he is much stronger and healthier than he was in our own era. Ha! Not that he did very badly in our own era - we both lived to a good old age."

"Yeah, it doesn't work like that though," she replies. "You worry 'cause you care, not 'cause he's weak or helpless. 'Sides, he worries over you too."

"Have you read of my experiment with the Devil's Foot?"

She shudders and rubs at her arms before glaring at me. "Pull a stunt like that and I swear I'll kill you - OK?"

I give a shiver in spite of myself - and not just due to feeling chilled. "A stunt like that might well rob you of the opportunity.."

"Huh!" the inspector pokes me in the arm. "I'd bring you back to life again just so I could yell at you 'n' kill you again!"

I chuckle. "Charming."

"I'm not kidding Sherlock; don't try it."

"Consider me warned."

"Good!" she shakes her head and mutters something that would appear to be about Victorian gentlemen being insane. "Don't you see danger in anything?"

I sniff. "Of course I do! I simply like to understand -"

She again pokes my arm. I do wish that she would desist! My muscles are tense as I am feeling so very cold and having a finger poking one of them is deucedly uncomfortable.

"Understand this - you've got me, John, Watson, the Irregulars... I mean, you mean a lot to a lot o' people Holmes. Besides, what d'you think your Irregulars'd do if something happened to you? They'd probably go back to pretty crime..."

"I am not going to commit suicide!"

"You sure as zed don't try very hard to stay safe!"

If she wishes to fight... "Neither do you, for that matter." Ha!

She deflates somewhat. "I guess."

I pat her shoulder and offer her a smile.

"I wouldn't poison myself to find out what it does though."

"I did promise Watson that I would never do such a thing again," I inform her quietly. "That does still stand; I am a man of my word."

She smiles back at me. "That's good to know."

I sniff quietly and finish my tea. "We should get to work."

"We can't do anything until we hear from Winters," she shakes her head. "Besides, you really should go home and rest. Go to bed for a while; see if you can warm up a little. I'll see that John takes care o' you."

"I am not ill!"

She frowns at me. "You sure as zed aren't well! You're getting hypothermic - know what that means?"

I sniff somewhat derisively. "I have the opposite of a fever."

"That happens for one o' two reasons Holmes - getting too cold or getting too tired. If you aren't careful you could get really sick."

God help me! "I am all right! I have gone without sleep many times before!"

And yet, I do feel unwell. Not dreadful, but worse than my usual post-case lethargy. My head has been aching ever since we boarded the shuttle home - an annoying, dull ache that paracetamol cannot seem to do a thing about - and I have been becoming nauseous and fatigued frequently.

"Yeah, I've heard all your 'sleep is optional' crap. You need it Sherlock - remember how bad you felt when you started getting insomnia?"

I nod and twitch my nose. "I did feel somewhat unwell, I recall."

"Huh! 'Somewhat unwell'! You were in a real bad way - if Watson hadn't been able to put in an appearance when he did... Well, it would've taken you a long time to recover."

I shrug and look away. "I have never... That is... Watson was the only person that ever wanted to be a friend to me; he changed me. I cannot begin to explain."

She takes my hand and squeezes it. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he? More than me 'n' John put together."

"I would be just as upset if you were in danger and I could do nothing - or if John was lost - it is the hopelessness of the situation that upsets me Beth; being powerless... frightens me."

She gives my hand another squeeze. "I understand. But you're not alone in this, OK? Don't worry."

I nod and attempt to calm myself. I know that I can trust Lestrade, John and Winters for their assistance; there is no need for me to fret.

"Feel better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Good. Come on then; let's get you home. I'll get one of the Yard's droids to take your car back for you - I think I'd like to know you're home safe."

We are on our way to Baker Street when Winters contacts us. Chelsea has been approached by a gentleman in a hooded coat (hood up and obscuring his face) and a scarf covering his mouth.

"He had a French accent, if that helps."

I sit up a little straighter, my headache and fatigue forgotten in an instant. "It might. What did this French gentleman say?"

"He told her where to take Watson tonight and what to do to him," he shivers. "I didn't like it Holmes; he gave her something to slip in his drink."

"Where is she to take him?" I ask somewhat brusquely. There is no time for pleasantries.

"A dance club in one of the seedier parts of town. The Bottoms Up."

I grimace. "That is certainly not the sort of place that I should expect a gentleman like Watson to visit."

"I get the feeling that he isn't meant to know where he's going until he gets there."

"More than likely," I mutter quietly. "Well, John is going to keep him in tonight anyway; that should put a spanner in the works for Chelsea's friend."

Winters shakes his head. "Chelsea might be in contact with this guy, but I wouldn't say they're friends; she was scared of him - you could see it in her body language."

"Scared? Are you certain?" I press the fellow. "She could have been afraid of being seen with her contact - or overheard for that matter - surely?"

"No, I don't think so. After all, she deals with guys in from off the street and it's been cold and wet out since about ten this morning - there's nothing all that suspicious about her talking to someone off the street in a rain coat. Besides, she was definitely afraid of him - I mean, she cowered slightly when he approached her desk. She also flinched when she asked whether that stuff she was given'd hurt Watson and he said it wasn't any o' her business."

As much as I dislike Chelsea, it sounds as if she is in need of help. What can I do? If we prevent Watson from accompanying her, that could place her in terrible danger; on the other hand, allowing him to walk out in her could lead to him being poisoned or drugged.

"We'll have to tell Watson what we know," Beth is saying beside me.

"What?" I almost leap out of my seat. "We cannot! He would undoubtedly place himself in harm's way for her sake!"

Winters nods. "At least he'll know not to drink anything."

"You cannot be serious! The fellow shall have to drink something."

Lestrade smirks at me. "Will you relax? He's not gonna be going it alone. Scott, can Jones get a date at short notice, d'you think? Great! Ask him to take her to the Bottoms Up club. I know it's not really his kind of place, but if he could grunge down to look the part... Look! Just tell him it's for Watson, OK? Holmes, there's no way you could fit in there..."

"Perhaps not, but I do know a man that can. Do you think you could look a little more disreputable by... At what time is Watson to be taken there? By half past seven?"

She snorts. "I think I can manage it. Who's my escort?"

I smile to myself. "The right sort of escort for such a place. Never mind him - I shall see that he behaves himself and allows you to work."

"I sure hope so Holmes."

With that, Winters is gone and Lestrade turns her full attention to driving. The weather is terrible and reminds me of the storm that I once braved (as a fairly new driver) to visit Watson's grave. It seems like an eternity ago now.

I almost wish now that Lestrade had not had Watson brought back to life now; I am no better at protecting him and keeping him from harm than I was in our own era. As we speed onward, through the heavy rain and fading light, I try to calm myself as my stomach churns unpleasantly and attempts to tie itself into knots. I have not fretted like this since my Boswell announced his engagement - even Moriarty could not fill me with so much dread and nothing, in wakefulness or sleep, has ever brought me so near to panic.

I am terrified for my gentle friend.


	5. Sneaking Out

I set an alarm on my pocket telephone and take to my bed, but sleep evades me. This is partly due to feeling horribly unwell and cold and partly due to my upset nerves sending me to the washroom at frequent intervals. Unless Lestrade is right and I am indeed catching a chill.

"Holmes?" Watson quietly opens the door of my room and peers inside. "Are you all right old fellow?"

I shiver as he comes to my side and presses a hand to my forehead.

"Oh God! You are not well! Stay there and I shall get John; we should get you upstairs to my room, so that we can light a fire for you."

That would be too far from the washroom. "No, just allow me to take to the settee; I shall be comfortable enough there."

"Are you quite sure?"

I smile and nod. "Rest is all that I need," I assure the fellow with a sniff. I then realise that he is dressed up. "You are going out again?"

"Yes," he averts his gaze as his face flushes. "I um... Ahem... I shall be rather more careful tonight - and I have had plenty of rest. I must admit that I do not like to leave you while you are ill though; what are your symptoms?"

I shrug. "Inability to feel warm, headache, sniffles... the usual symptoms of overtiredness."

"Or the first symptoms of a cold," the fellow notes with a frown.

I groan and rub at my forehead with my fingertips. "Do not fuss!"

"I am a doctor Holmes - and your friend. Now, wait here and I shall fetch John."

If he fetches John I shall not be permitted to leave this house for at least a week! "No. I am all right - go and have fun."

"I am not going to pick Chelsea up until eight o'clock tonight," he responds with a chuckle. "I have been trying to decide upon what I should wear. What do you think? Would a top hat and tails seem over-the-top?"

Where he is going, any outfit that he could possibly choose would seem over-the-top! "Just be yourself old fellow," I advise him kindly, "and wear whatever you feel the most comfortable in; you shall still be the smartest chap at the venue."

"Yes, I have noticed that most modern men seem to wear denim or sleeveless shirts."

I grimace and give a violent shiver at the thought. I should prefer to wear something considerably warmer.

"I shall ask John for some assistance," Watson repeats. "He can make up a bed for you while I tend to the fire."

I do manage to catch a wink or two of sleep once I am moved to the settee before my wretched body disturbs me yet again.

"Where are you going?" John demands to know when I drag myself unsteadily to my feet, discarding the book that he had been reading for a moment to frown at me.

I step awkwardly from one foot to the other. "The washroom."

The fellow quietly apologises. "Do you need help?"

"No. I can manage. Thank you John."

Just as I am tending to myself, my phone begins to vibrate. It is time to get up. I wash myself quickly and then go through to my bedroom, being careful not to alert the reading compudroid.

What to wear? I pull from my wardrobe a long, black PVC coat, a woollen jumper and thick denim trousers - jeans. It is not quite the outfit that I had in mind, but I hardly wish to spend the evening trying my utmost to keep myself from shivering. This will have to do.

I pull out an elastomask that sports a few scars, apply a tattoo to the back of my hand and then dress. Now to sneak out. Hum. I carefully, quietly, lift the sash window and make my escape down into the night. A quick check of the time informs me that I have half an hour to walk to Lestrade's apartment and call for her.

The walk to Lestrade's is uneventful. I do, however, have to stop once to sneeze; a deucedly uncomfortable action to perform inside an elastomask. At least it does modify the sound, I suppose - that Yarder could easily recognise one of my sneezes and I would rather let her believe me to be at home and in bed until she is in no position to insist that I return to convalescing and send me back to Baker Street or (worse still) ask John to come and collect me.

When my friend opens the door, I almost fail to recognise her. "Inspector Lestrade?"

She crosses her arms. "Tonight, I'm Xara. With an X. Got it?"

Consider me firmly put in my place. I give her a crooked grin. "Very trendy."

"What do I call you?"

I smirk. "On a good day or a bad day, Yardie?"

"Did Mr. Holmes warn you that I know where your pressure points are?"

Touché Lestrade. "I'm usually called Scar."

"Huh, yeah, I can see why. Well, let's go Scar."

"Do I 'ave to get the rounds in?" I ask as she leads me to an unmarked cruiser that she has evidently borrowed for the evening.

She chuckles. "Holmes' instructions?"

"Yeah. He says he's payin' me enough to allow for me to buy you drinks. Huh! Like you Yardies don't earn enough!"

She smirks at me. "Chill. I'm not gonna show myself up by letting you or any other guy practice your chivalry - it'd stand out where we're going."

I guffaw - that is, Scar does. "Yeah, it would. How's about we turn the chivalry thing on its head and you buy my drinks?"

She smiles icily. "How about this? I buy my drinks, you get your own drinks and I don't get mad."

Scar guffaws again. "I like you Xara. You're fun to be with. Are you always like this, or just when you're dating?"

"Let's get this straight right now: this is not a date. My friend's in trouble and I can't go into a place like the Bottoms Up Club alone; that's why Holmes brought you in. Got it? You do as I say - if I say dance, we dance; if I say to shut up, you shut up. If you even think about getting too close to me, you will go over my shoulder. You understand, right?"

"Yeah," Scar mutters sullenly, while I hope that I am not going to be expected to dance.

"Good. Just don't forget it."

The night club is full to the rafters with youths and tobacco smoke. It takes all of my self-control not to cough in protest, for this young, rejuvenated version of me has never experienced the drug.

Beside me, Lestrade growls and mutters something about returning in uniform tomorrow. I should like to witness that!

"Where's your friend?" I ask her quietly.

She looks about her. "Good; it looks like we're here ahead of 'em. Come on, we'll go sit at the bar."

What should I have to drink? My first thought is to ask for something that contains caffeine, but that would most assuredly draw unwanted attention to myself here as everyone else is imbibing copious amounts of alcohol. Rum and coke, perhaps - it is vile, but at least the caffeine should keep me from becoming sleepy. There are also cocktails, which sound equally as vile, that contain energy drinks. I shall try one of those, I think.

Lestrade would seem to have had the same idea. She orders a rum and coke 'on the rocks' and settles down to casually watch the door.

I swallow the foul drink before me as quickly as I can and fidget on my bar stool. I do not wish to order another one of those!

"What the zed's up with you?" Lestrade hisses at me. "Got ants in your pants? Stay zedding still."

I cease my fidgeting and give her a crooked smile. "Wanna dance babe?"

"No. I'm drinking. ...Hon."

Hon? I raise an eyebrow at her and then begin to bite at my nail.

"Stop that."

I obey grudgingly. I then order another drink. I hope that Watson and Chelsea are going to put in an appearance soon, because I know not how many of these things I can swallow. I am already feeling a little bit sick.

"Go slower with this one," the Yarder advises me quietly. "If you drink too much, I'm not carrying you home."

It is on the tip of my tongue to point out that she has a car, but I quietly heed her warning. I am glad of the excuse to make this drink last me.

Watson has not yet arrived when nature begins to call. I grimace and try to decide whether I should use the cloakroom while I have the chance or wait. My companion of old could put in an appearance at any time, after all.

"What's the matter with you?" Lestrade growls at me.

Scar grimaces and squirms on the stool in a manner that I do not like at all. "Need to pee."

"Well hurry up then!"

When I return to my seat, Watson and Chelsea are just taking a table under the watchful gaze of a familiar, pale man with a jutting lower jaw and bulging eyes, who is sitting nearby.

My old friend's acquaintance looks decidedly nervous. Her smiles are half-hearted at best and she continuously clasps and unclasps her hands as she looks about her. I have never seen her look less than confident before, but perhaps - as with me - it is simply a matter of her usually being able to conceal any unease that she might feel. I cannot help but feel guilty for being so quick to misjudge the young woman.

"Are you all right my dear?" I hear Watson ask her with concern.

She shakes her head and rubs at her temple. "Actually John, I don't feel too good. I'm sorry."

"Not at all! It is you that I am worried about. Do you wish to go home?"

The pale man is already on his feet. He approaches their table, an unlit cigarette in his hand, and asks for a light. He then leans in close to whisper to Chelsea. It is then that things become interesting.

The girl is on her feet before Watson can react and hits the man in the jaw with her hand bag. "Leave me alone, fish face! I'm nobody's lacky!"

Fenwick is not alone. Of course he is not alone! Some menacing individuals surround the table and Lestrade and I are leaping to our feet and running in the same instant.

Any individual that does not know me might be surprised at my turn of speed, agility and perhaps just my ability to fight at all while exhausted. Indeed, I might be somewhat surprised myself, were I thinking about anything other than my Boswell's safety at this moment. There are thugs everywhere - some of them brandishing weapons - but I am moving instinctively amongst them, while Lestrade and Jones play their part with enthusiasm and Watson protects Chelsea.

It is interesting - everything around me would appear to be moving in slow-motion; it is not difficult to duck, dodge and block the many blows that are aimed at me. Even the flying chair that is sent hurtling towards my head misses me by a mile.

As the fight begins to draw to a close, however, I begin to flag. I am weary and feeling unwell now that the adrenalin, alcohol and what ever it was in those energy drinks is wearing off.

"Right," Jones growls as he brushes the fringe of his blue wig from his eyes. "Put your knives down in a pile on the floor. Enough's enough."

With that he and Lestrade each draw their ionisers and brandish them.

As the thugs make a neat pile of weapons, Fenwick attempts to sneak away.

"Oh no you don't!" in an instant I have grappled the scoundrel to the floor. I cannot help myself - in a fit of rage I astride him and give him two strong punches.

"That's enough Scar," Lestrade tells me firmly. "He's had enough. Let's get 'em out o' here."

Watson helps me to my feet while I continue to glare daggers at the wretch that threatened my friend.

"Take them next door; it is empty. We should hold them until Grayson sends some cars to apprehend this gang."

Lestrade frowns at me and then nods. "We'll do as he says," she says to Jones.

There is no rope in the derelict old building next door, but there is plenty of electric cable. We bind each criminal securely and I then turn to Chelsea.

"The vial that Fenwick here gave to you; where is it?"

She stares back at me through wide, frightened eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right," I reveal myself and toss aside the elastomask.

"Holmes!" Lestrade growls. "I knew it was you - even with your voice all disguised. No lowlife'd use a word like 'apprehend'. I should've known you'd never stay home if Watson was in danger."

"Are you quite finished?" I snap, addressing her with a glare, before turning to Watson's young 'lady' friend. "Come now; you cannot hide from me. Where is it?"

She becomes tearful as she hands it over. "I never would've used it."

"No, you made that quite clear tonight," I assure her quietly, before turning to Fenwick.

"Let me go Holmes," he advises me in that grating accent of his. "I know that you do not like violence."

I point at Watson as my temper again gets the better of me. "You threatened my Boswell! He is the finest man that I have ever known in two lifetimes and you meant to harm him. There is a line Fenwick and you and Moriarty have crossed it!"

He flinches and lowers his bulging eyes to the floor.

"Now," I growl dangerously, my voice becoming all the deeper due to the tobacco smoke that I have inhaled. "What is in this vial?"

He shrugs sullenly.

"You mean to tell me that you do not even know? Tut tut! And you wished for Chelsea to use it on my friend in any case? That is not very nice, is it?" I hold the vial up and study its contents. "I wonder what it does..."

The bulging eyes gaze up at me and the thin lips turn upward in a horrible smile at my musing. "There is an easy way to find out."

"Hum," I nod and continue to gaze at the vial's contents. "Yes, indeed there is."

"Holmes! No!" Watson protests. "You are not going to -"

I turn to my Boswell. "Hold him still and tilt back his head," I order the fellow. "He can sample this concoction for me, seeing as he saw fit to dose you with it."

Lestrade grabs my arm roughly. "Sherlock, get a hold of yourself! We don't do things like that - it's illegal."

I turn cold eyes upon her. "Get Chelsea away from here. She has seen enough unpleasantness tonight."

"Sherlock..."

"Get out!" I roar at her before she can argue further. I have never shouted at the Yarder like that before and I must confess that I am almost as shocked as she looks.

Lestrade takes Watson's lady friend by the arm and drags her out without another word.

"Holmes," Jones begins severely.

I stare him down. "If you wish to leave the room, I understand."

"I don't want you to break the law!"

I shrug and approach Fenwick slowly. "Hold him still Watson; he can drink this or choke on it - it matters not."

"It matters to me!" the criminal shrieks.

I stop, my head tilted to one side as I gaze thoughtfully at him. "Does it? But you do not even know what this does! Do you not wish to find out? Hum?"

"I know what it does!" he yells hastily. "It is a poison. It is slow-acting but deadly. Moriarty was going to use its antidote to make a deal with you."

Clever. "And why did you use Chelsea?"

Fenwick shrugs and smiles nastily (which, given my mood, is not wise). "They like each other. Your friend would trust her, no?"

From the corner of my eye, I see Watson clench his fists. "I should wipe that disgusting smirk from off of your face if I were you, you fiend."

He starts to laugh, but something in my expression causes the sound to die on his lips. He is, after all, a coward.

"That's better," I acknowledge when he lapses into a sullen silence. "Bear in mind that you are at my mercy."

"Game's over Holmes," Lestrade calls as she enters with Jones, Winters and John. "The Cavalry just arrived."

I nod and rub at my arms. I am tired, cold and my head is aching, but Watson is safe and we have a nightclub to invade tomorrow. That should be enjoyable!

"What the deuce have you been doing Holmes?" John demands to know as he rushes forward. "You look dreadful! You were supposed to be resting."

"I shall rest when I am..." I yawn into my hand. "...tired."

Lestrade smirks at me. "Yeah. Right now - I thought you were gonna stay home and sleep anyway."

I wave away her concern with one of my best 'all will be well' smiles. "I am quite all right."

"Like zed you are."

"You are cold," John adds as we watch the 'Cavalry' take away our apprehended villains. "I dare say you feel dreadful as well."

Nearing the point of collapse, if I am honest. I am already feeling the reaction coming upon me - I am going to be weary and morose for a week, I fear. Unless I can find a further distraction, naturally.


	6. Working Things Out

**I am a little frustrated and unhappy with the manner in which this chapter flows; my kindly Beta and I have gone over this tirelessly and still it feels a little trite. My apologies, but as my Beta is abandoning me for four days I felt compelled to submit it as it is or else be forced to wait a further four days when I wish to concentrate on the next part.**

**Knightfury**

"I'm gonna take Chelsea home for a few things and then she's gonna stay with me for a while," Lestrade announces. "Moriarty knows where she lives - that's why she was so scared of him."

"Where is she?" Watson asks anxiously. "And is she all right?"

"She's in my cruiser; it's an unmarked black one. Would you..."

The fellow takes to his heels and runs on ahead, leaving Lestrade to support me (not that I need it) while John and Jones follow a step or two behind.

"...like to talk to her?" the Yarder chuckles. "Looks like she's forgiven, anyway."

I nod and give a violent shiver. "Watson is infatuated."

"Well, good! It's about time he found someone. He's not like us Sherlock - he needs a wife."

I sniff and look away. "I have no objection as long as she will prove to be worthy of his love and trust."

"I'll talk to her, OK?" the Yarder squeezes my arm. "If she'd only trusted me, this could've been sorted out before you 'n' Watson even got back from Canada. Careful Holmes! You OK?"

I regain my balance quickly and nod. "I am only tired."

"Huh, yeah," she shakes her head. "Do me a favour? Get some sleep this time?"

I shiver again and nod. "I suspect that I have little choi - ah... Huh-atchoo!"

"Bless you," the annoyed voice of John says behind us. "If you have caught a cold, you shall have no sympathy from me. Watson and I have given you sufficient warning."

"Aw John," Lestrade again squeezes my arm supportively. "Holmes had more important stuff on his mind than himself - like Watson's safety. You can't blame him for that, can you?"

"It is high time that he learns to entrust the care of his Boswell to others," the fellow snaps. "You and Jones are more than capable."

Oh dear. He is angry!

Lestrade wraps her arm about me in a manner that could almost be considered protective and says no more. At least she would appear to understand.

When we reach the car park, my friend helps me into the back seat of our car while Watson exchanges sweet nothings with Chelsea and John takes to the driver's seat.

"Look after yourself, OK?" Lestrade requests quietly. "Maybe if you're feeling better next weekend, we can go somewhere, huh? Just you 'n' me, for a change."

I nod and sniff miserably. "I suppose I must become accustomed to not having Watson with me. Again."

"It's not the same though."

"It may well be worse! Mary knew me - she understood - I helped her..."

The inspector sighs and touches my arm. "Chelsea knows she can trust you now. You'll see - it'll be OK. Now, stop getting upset over zed, OK?"

I attempt a smile.

"That's a little better. Now, try not to worry - and remember I'm only a call away."

I nod and quietly thank her, for I must confess that I do feel a little better for her support and kindness. The Yarder then closes the door so that I shan't be quite so cold. I am asleep before Watson gets into the car.

The following week is positively miserable! I spend it curled upon the settee, barely able (let alone permitted) to move, in what Watson would refer to as a black mood. Thus is my reaction to too much adrenalin and too little sleep; I feel too ill to eat, too cold and uncomfortable for sleep and I ache horribly. Were I alone, I could quite probably cry with exhausted frustration but that, of course, is not a thing that I would do with John and Watson to bear witness.

Eventually, I recover enough to sleep and gradually improve. I soon become alert enough to realise that Watson is not about very much, as mealtimes tend to be spent alone with John.

"Chelsea has been rather upset by her ordeal and Watson felt that he should comfort her," the robot explains when I mention it.

Yes, of course. Never mind how I am - I am always fine. "Quite right."

The fellow frowns at me. "Do stop moping and eat something old boy."

"I am not 'moping' John - I am feeling unwell. It may be easier to sleep than it was, but my stomach feels as if it has been shut down; I cannot possibly eat. I do not feel the slightest bit hungry."

"But you must!"

I moan and wave him away. "When I am ready! Please John, just save it for Watson or else give it to Briar. I am still without appetite."

"I'm real sorry to hear that," Lestrade remarks as she enters the sitting room. "I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere for lunch. What d'you say?"

John frowns thoughtfully. "If you both are careful not to become cold or weary, a walk might benefit Holmes; perhaps some exercise and fresh air might be enough to encourage his stomach to function."

He could be right, for exercise does indeed improve a fellow's appetite.

"You better dress warm," the inspector advises me. "I don't want you getting worse."

I take her advice without argument. "Where are we going?" I call through the closed door of the bedroom.

"I haven't decided yet. Just dress against the weather 'n' wear your Inverness, OK? That is your warmest coat, right?"

After much coddling and fussing, I am bundled into Lestrade's car.

"I'd be tempted to take you to the coast, if it wasn't so cold," the Yarder remarks. "You really don't look good and I don't wanna make you worse."

I shrug. "I feel all right - I have always reacted in this way after a long case and I had not had much chance to recover after the case in Canada. I am all right."

"Yeah, well, I'd feel better if you'd take it easy for a while. So... where to?"

"Sussex?"

She frowns at me for a long moment and then nods. "OK Sherlock. Same beach as before?"

"Well, if you would be so good. Perhaps we could have tea in that delightful little shop that we found last time."

"Actually, I might have a better idea, but I guess that all depends. We'll take a walk first anyway."

And so we are soon once more walking together, arm in arm, along the sea front. The weather is indeed cold, but I hardly notice as I am so very well wrapped up. Only my nose, cheeks and ears are feeling the chill overly much.

Beside me, Lestrade gives a sudden sigh, causing a plume of steam to encircle her face for a moment as she gazes out to sea.

"Are you quite well my dear?" I query carefully. I do not actually mean to enquire after her physical condition so much as her emotional state, for she would appear to be somewhat unhappy.

She shrugs. "I was just thinking how lucky Chelsea is. Watson's been with her whenever I've been at work."

I had not realised that the fellow had been absent as much as that, but I have not been quite myself of late. "He has barely spared a thought for me..."

"Yeah he has," the Yarder assures me. "It's just that Chelsea'd be alone if he wasn't there and you've got John to take care o' you."

"An angry compudroid does not make a very amiable or comforting companion," I respond before I can check myself.

She stares at me. "He's still mad at you? Why?"

"Because I never listen," I sniff. "Apparently."

"You scared him I expect," Lestrade responds with a small smile. "He'll get over it - you'll see."

I hope so. He has clearly become terribly angry with me. "Did Chelsea explain what happened? Everything appeared to be going remarkably well between herself and Watson until we went to Canada, so I imagine that something happened in our absence - Fenwick approached her, did he not?"

"Yeah, but the first time he approached her, you and Watson hadn't gone anywhere - that was why she tried to convince him to stay in London. But she wouldn't explain why and you needed him, so off he went."

"Ah."

"It's not your fault Holmes - she was scared and never told anyone anything; you weren't to know. Anyway, then she was approached again - this time it was by Moriarty and at her apartment. She was given some pretty scary threats. At first she was just frightened for herself, but then, when you, John 'n' Watson came home, she was approached while they were out together and this time, they were telling her to do things to hurt Watson. She decided to make him hate her..."

"Why?" I interrupt.

She shakes her head and shrugs expressively. "She didn't know what else to do. I mean, they knew where she l lived and they warned her not to say a word to her colleagues at the Yard or else 'a misfortune' might happen. The threat was as much against any friend or colleague she might talk to as it was against herself and she decided she'd prefer for Watson to hate her but be safe than to love her and be in danger."

I avert my gaze to stare out to sea. My throat is terribly tight and I doubt that I could utter a sound even if I could find the appropriate words to say.

"Are you OK?"

I nod and give a shiver as I bring myself back under control. "Truly, Watson is very fortunate. I do not think that I could ever try to cause the fellow to hate me - not even to save his life."

"You let him think you were dead..."

I slam my eyes shut and nod. "It was the most difficult and painful thing that I have ever done. I could not do that again - certainly not for three years. My... I could not bear it."

"You let John think you were dead."

I nod again. "I did not mean to. Not at first. But it did give me an opportunity to work entirely alone, so as to avoid drawing any attention to myself. And working against the Yard for a change was rather fun."

She glares at me from the corner of her eye. "You're a pest when you want to be."

"I am not! I simply have a somewhat impish sense of humour when the mood takes me."

"That's what I said," she growls.

I shrug and we both stop walking to stand side by side and arm in arm as we watch the sea birds and the boats.

"I've been thinking," she announces suddenly - and somewhat awkwardly. "About... well... About what we were talking about before."

I sniff and turn to meet her gaze. "What were we talking about?" It has been rather a long month and I cannot possibly be expected to remember the subject of idle chat.

"Well, I was thinking about what I want," she says quietly. "I've come to realise that I get lonely sometimes, when I'm at my apartment..."

I shrug my shoulders. "Perhaps you should share with someone. If you find the right person, it can prove to be perfect."

"Domestic bliss."

"Something like that," I reply with a small smile. "I shall miss Watson. He does not realise how good it feels to have him there to come home to. ...Have I said something amusing?"

She shakes her head and smiles at me. "No. It's just that I kinda feel the same way about Chelsea. I've got used to her being there and it's... it feels good to have the company. You know?"

I nod quietly.

"That's all I want really - companionship. Someone to come home to, that'll understand me... take an interest in what I've done and how my day went," she shrugs. "Just someone who cares."

I care. I slip an arm about her. "That is what Watson does - he takes an interest and cares."

She nods quietly. "He'll still be around y'know; it's not like he'll be emigrating to the Moon or anything."

"Yes, I know," I shake my head and pull myself together. "Forgive me. You are quite right."

She gives me another small smile.

"It seems to me that we want much the same things," I muse quietly. "Not so much love as companionship; someone that is prepared to accept us as we are and to take an interest in what we do."

"Yeah, I guess so."

I frown thoughtfully and return my gaze to the sea. "I am not quite sure where we shall find a matching man and woman that are unmarried."

"Huh?"

"Well, as much as I like the Winters family, I could never live with them - nor the Watsons; they are going to be..."

"Holmes," she interrupts, "don't you think we're compatible?"

I grimace. "Well, yes. You know that we are. But we cannot live together."

"Why not?"

I rub my hands together nervously. "Well... We are not married."

"So what? I already said I'm not interested in more than companionship and we've established that you aren't either."

I slam my eyes shut. "It is simply not the correct order of things! It would not be proper."

"OK," her hand squeezes my arm. "So what do you suggest?"

"Well..." I open my eyes and turn to face her. "Beth, with your permission, I should like to court you."

She stares back at me for a long moment and then laughs. "Court me? Haven't we already been doing that, sorta unofficially? I mean, we know each other pretty well already and we go out together to socialise a lot. Most o' New Scotland Yard already think we're an item."

"Then what would you suggest?" I demand to know. Damn the woman! She knows not how much courage it took for me to ask that question. Besides, the half of the Yard that does not believe Lestrade and I to be courting think that Watson and I are!

She shrugs. "We could just skip that and get engaged."

"No we cannot!" I yell back at her.

"Oh," her face falls and she turns away. "You're still dead against marriage, huh?"

Why can she not understand? "Not if it is you that I am marrying, but I cannot become engaged to you like this - this is not how it is done! First, I should take you somewhere... suitable... where the conditions are perfect. Then, at just the right moment, I should go down on one knee - like this - look into your eyes and pull out a ring (which I do not have) and ask you for your hand..."

"You know, for a guy who claims that he has no time for romance, you can be pretty romantic."

I shrug. "I am from an incurably romantic era. Besides, I do believe that such things should be done properly - with planning and effort."

"I guess so."

"Besides, there are things that we do not know about one another," I add. "Do we want the same things? We have never discussed things such as children."

"You want kids?" Lestrade sounds shocked.

I shrug. "Perhaps one day. I must confess that I regretted not having a family, when I found myself old and alone."

"Yeah, maybe. I've gotta admit, I always sorta thought about having kids around when I was younger. I just can't see myself giving up my job, like Debbie Winters has - I like my work too much."

I sniff and give a shiver. "That was what nannies were for, in my era."

"I'm not so sure about that either," my lady friend confesses. "I mean, I think Debs has got the right idea. Your Irregulars are the way they are because they can get away with it - because they either have one-parent families, parents that work long hours or both. If we have kids, one of us'll have to be there for them."

I almost tell her that John, Watson and I manage to be there for Briar, but that is very different. Briar can accompany us on long cases and usually does, needed or not. A baby or small child is a different matter entirely.

"I suppose that you are right."

"You know I am," she retorts. "If we're gonna have kids, we've got a lot of working out to do."

I shrug and smile. "If we are to have children, it will come after we are married; we have plenty of time to discuss it."

She gazes into my eyes. "You're really serious about all this, aren't you?"

Again I shrug. "It is a strange thing to joke about, do you not think?"

"It's just hard to take in. I mean, I never thought of you as the marrying kind."

"Well," I smirk at her from beneath my eyelashes. "Well, perhaps I simply needed to meet the right woman..."

She laughs quietly. "Maybe you're right."

We do not kiss. In my day, such behaviour was considered dreadfully impolite in public and neither of us are that way inclined anyway. We do, however, hold hands as we stroll along the sea front. In fact, we do not release one another's hands until we are back at the car and heading for which ever place it is that Lestrade has chosen to lunch at.


	7. New Boundaries

I have not lunched at an inn for... well, a considerably long time. Lestrade assures me that I am going to be pleasantly surprised, but I am currently unconvinced. We sit together in the snug, close to the open fire, and I gaze about me at the furnishings. Were it not for the 19th Century paraphernalia adorning the walls, window sills and ceiling, this could easily be an inn of my own era - no inn of my own era would keep a chamber pot anywhere apart from under a bed, out of sight, after all.

"I can recommend the soup o' the day, if you want something light 'n' easy to eat," the Yarder says quietly. "You sure don't look all that good."

"Thank you my dear," I retort with a smirk. "I am sure that that is a lovely compliment to give to one's love interest."

She grimaces. "It wasn't meant as a compliment! I'm worried about you. It's warm in here, but you're shivering and hunching yourself up. Zed! Yeah, and sneezing."

"I am still tired - this is what I am like when I am weary. Do not fret."

"I fret 'cause I care, OK? I can't just stop caring about you - I never could."

She speaks the truth and I know it well enough. "My apologies."

She touches my hand and then squeezes it. "Seriously, have some soup - your hands're like ice and you're real pale. It'll do you good. I promise."

"I do not much like soup," I inform her somewhat grumpily. I most certainly do not like the sort of soups that are served in country inns - rabbit stew is not an appetising meal!

"You'll like this. Go on."

I groan and shrug with my hands in weary defeat. "Anything for a quiet life."

She frowns at me with sincere concern and then goes to make an order at the bar, leaving me hunched miserably in my seat. She is quite right - I am not feeling myself; I simply do not wish to admit as much to her and ruin our little outing together.

Lestrade proves to be correct in regard to the soup. Today's is a seafood dish - a special recipe of the chef's (not the landlord's, as would have been the case in my own era) - and I am indeed pleasantly surprised. It is delicious! I manage to eat about a third of the dish before my fatigue curtails my appetite.

"Don't you want it?" my lady friend enquires. "Isn't it good?"

I nod and try not to yawn. "It is delicious! I am simply too weary."

She nods as her eyes study me closely. "You're getting sick. I shouldn't have taken you out with me today."

"I feel all right."

"Don't lie to me Sherlock - your eyes say it all; you're sick and you need rest. Let me settle the tab 'n' I'll take you home."

I feel guilty for leaving so much, but I cannot eat another bite. I must confess that I do not feel well - I simply am not compelled to do so out loud, in front of Lestrade.

Once we are outside, I attempt to assure my lady friend that I have perked up, for I do not wish to end our outing just yet. I want to hold her hand again and perhaps to share yet another new experience with her. I feel as if it might all be over if I go home now.

"You need rest," she repeats. "I'm worried you might collapse if I drag you around Sussex with me."

"I am not about to collapse!"

The Yarder knows me far too well - and just what to say. "I think any other guy would've collapsed already," she remarks quietly. "It's a good thing you're pretty tough."

Flattery or not, her words successfully disarm me and I relax.

"Come on, let's get you home and put to bed," Lestrade says as she pulls me in close to her. "I know you - you'll soon be on your feet again if you'll just give yourself a chance to get better. Even your worst colds don't usually take you more than three days to shake off; you just need to admit you're sick and give yourself those three days."

"I have not got a cold! I am only overly tired."

She smirks at me. "So you definitely need rest then."

Damn! I most certainly walked headlong into that.

We return to discover that John is out walking Briar. That would seem to suit Lestrade, for she sits down with me (having swathed me in thick rugs and lit the fire) and begins to discuss the new boundaries of our relationship while she warms my hands in hers.

"I rather like holding hands," I confess quietly. All the same, it is not exactly special treatment that I am giving to her, for I am inclined to hold (or at the very least squeeze) Watson's hand when the fellow requires comfort or reassurance.

She nods. "I like it too. So... What else are you comfortable with?"

I am not comfortable with the way that I currently feel! I am quite sure that I never would have been tempted to behave like a cad in my own era, yet the temptation is present now. How can I possibly warn her? What can I do about it? I cannot talk to John about it - he would not understand - and Watson would more than likely consider it to be normal. Well, normal for any normal man, anyway.

"How about this?" she asks as she sits beside me and wraps an arm about me. "I can see you're cold; it might help."

With that, she is offering me what can only be described as a cuddle, pulling me close and advising me to rest my head upon her shoulder. This feels good and I confess as much. I then pull away to sneeze.

"You really should not keep doing that," John informs me as he enters the sitting room. "You could easily give yourself a nosebleed, silencing your sneezes like that. While we are in the house, you can make as much noise as you wish."

"Th-thahh... Ah-ashoo! That would completely decimate my 'stifled sneeze' rule."

Lestrade smirks at me. "It wasn't a great rule anyway."

"Bless you Holmes. No, it certainly was not."

I groan and huddle up in the rugs with a shiver, feeling rather sorry for myself. I feel that it is a very good rule, for it gives me room for argument when my companions fret overly much.

"Feeling bad?" the Yarder asks gently as she rubs small circles at my back.

"I am tired," I confess as I rest my heavy head at her shoulder.

I feel her rest her head at my temple in turn. "Well sleep then. It's OK, I'll still be here when you wake up; it's not like I can't trust Watson and Chelsea alone together."

I agree quietly and close my eyes, feeling very safe and secure in her embrace. This is probably due to receiving care from her before Watson was restored to life, but it still seems strange to me that I can feel like this in a woman's presence.

I know not for how long I have slept, but I awake feeling much better. My mind is clearer, my body is no longer aching and the chilly feeling has vanished as well. There! I knew that I had nothing wrong with me that sleep would not put right. I smile to myself and move closer to the slumbering woman at my side. This is good; I can see why a fellow might wish to awake beside a woman that loves him.

It occurs to me that John is watching me from his armchair. Well, what difference should that make? I am not doing anything wrong. I address him with a sleepy smile and continue to cuddle with my young lady friend.

"Feeling better?" Lestrade's voice asks of me in a quiet, drowsy tone.

I give a slight start. "Yes thank you. Did I disturb you?"

I feel her shrug. "I wasn't really asleep; I was just resting. There's something relaxing about just staying still with you."

I know exactly what she means. I have always felt that there is nothing that I could enjoy more than simply spending a quiet evening alone with Watson, listening to music on the gramophone - music player - or reading or playing my violin. Soon, those quiet evenings will be spent with her.

"Do you not think that you are perhaps not behaving as a gentleman should, Holmes?" John enquires, interpreting my thoughts.

"Hum? Oh. Did you wish to get up, Beth?"

She shakes her head and wraps her arms gently about my waist. "I'm OK if you are."

To be truthful I should quite like to visit the washroom, but I am not in a hurry to leave my lady friend's soothing embrace. I shall wait until the feeling becomes impossible to ignore.

It occurs to me that John is watching us with an expression of disapproval. What does he think that we are going to do? I am not a cad! But then again, we have not told him our news yet.

"I shall make a pot of tea," the robot announces as he stands, his tone informing me that he hopes that he can trust us to behave ourselves.

I smile and nod. "Thank you John."

"Are we gonna tell him or keep it secret?" Lestrade asks quietly, once he is out of our earshot.

I shrug. "I think I should prefer to tell him and Watson at the same time. They are both rather inclined to chat."

"OK. That's fine with me."

And so we have a cup of tea and then Lestrade insists that John and I invade her apartment. It had not occurred to me that she might be in such a hurry. After all, we are only courting!

"Well, just let me freshen up before we get in the car," I request, miming washing my face. "I still feel somewhat sleepy."

"OK. Just hurry it up," she responds, folding her arms and tapping her foot. Really! Anyone would think that I spend every waking moment washing myself!

When we arrive at Lestrade's apartment, we find Watson and Chelsea sitting together holding hands while her head rests at his shoulder. Both look somewhat embarrassed when we enter the sitting area, but neither one is uncomfortable enough to move.

Beth and I each take to a chair and my lady friend drags hers to my side.

"What is going on?" Watson asks cautiously, as his eyes flick from one of us to the other.

I smile, being careful not to look at Lestrade or touch her, tempting though it is, for that would undoubtedly tell them everything. Instead I clear my throat and squirm in my seat somewhat nervously. "I - we - have some news to share. Lest - Beth - and I are courting."

Watson stares at us in shocked silence and I am glad that he is sitting down, for I have seen that look on his face only once before. However, he would seem to be all right, albeit a little pale.

I am just thinking how glad I am that my companion has not reacted as he did upon my dramatic return from the dead, when the fellow slumps in his chair and there is a crash to my left, where our robotic friend was standing moments ago. It would appear that both Watsons have simultaneously fainted.

"John!" my Boswell's young lady frantically fans his face with what I would take to be her magazine. "John? Are you OK?"

"I'll go get him some water," Beth volunteers. "Holmes, you'd better check on John. I don't think robots are meant to faint."

I know not how one should tend to a compudroid that has fainted. I can hardly give him something to drink. All the same, I kneel at his side and speak to him gently. I then try his reset button and listen with relief to the sound of his processors working.

"Are you all right old fellow?" I ask of him quietly as he sits up.

He nods and addresses me with a sheepish smile. "Yes Holmes. I am sorry. I did not know that a robot could faint."

"Quite all right," I assure him gently. "Are you hurt? Have you done yourself any damage?"

He shakes his head and stands gingerly. "I am all right Holmes. Thank you for your concern."

I merely pat his shoulder and address him with a small smile. I am glad that he has not come to any harm.

"I could hardly take in your news," the robot tells me. "You and Lestrade? Is it true?"

I chuckle. "Yes, it is true. Beth and I are courting now."

He nods slowly. "I am still finding that difficult to comprehend."

"Well, I would be grateful if you would not faint again. Are you sure that you are all right?"

"Yes Holmes, I am fine. Thank you. I did not know that you cared so much."

My happy mood is dampened somewhat by those words. "Of course I do! You are one of my dearest friends! How could you even think that?"

The fellow shrugs and looks away.

Poor John! Have I truly given him reason to feel neglected or forgotten? If I have, it is not surprising that he has been so short with me of late.

"My apologies old fellow. I did not intend to take you for granted, but I suppose that I have been. I am terribly sorry."

He smiles and pats my shoulder. "Quite all right Holmes."

It is nothing of the sort, but I am not about to argue. I shall be more mindful of my robotic friend's feelings from now on, however, for he is incredibly sensitive.

I return to my seat, urging John to pull up a chair beside me, and discover that Watson has also recovered from his shock. Unlike our robotic friend, however, he is in much better spirits. Apparently, he has been hoping that we might 'come to our senses' and 'admit that we are in love' for the last three years.

Lestrade smirks at me. "It had to happen sooner or later."

Why do I get the feeling that I have been manipulated into courting this Yarder? I suppose that it matters not, however; we are both quite lonely people and Watson and Chelsea are not going to be on hand for very much longer. Besides, we already know that we are compatible. All the same, it is somewhat disconcerting to realise that I am still far from immune to the charms of a clever woman.

"So... How about a double date?" Chelsea suggests suddenly, squeezing Watson's arm. "I'll feel a lot safer going out if there's four of us."

Beth frowns thoughtfully. "I don't know Chelsea. Holmes has been pretty sick and you haven't been too good yourself."

"I am all right," I assure her. "All that I require is an early night."

"Then see that you get one," she retorts.

John nods and wags his finger at me. "You are not going to stay up into the early hours tonight Holmes. If even you are admitting that you require sleep, you must still be feeling quite dreadful."

This is why one should never work with friends and family. It is impossible to hide anything!

"What if we go somewhere now?" Chelsea suggests. "I need to get out for a while."

I rub at my chin thoughtfully. "What about John? I fear we have all rather neglected him of late."

"He's a robot!"

I frown at the woman before me. "The fellow still has feelings and deserves respect and consideration at the very least."

Lestrade nods and addresses the compudroid with a warm smile. "He's a good friend to have Chelsea - I'd be nice to him if I were you."

"I could hardly accompany you," John shakes his head. "I would be in the way."

I pat the fellow's arm. "That rather depends upon where we go. We could always go to the coast..."

He frowns at me, clearly trying to determine whether or not I am well enough.

"John!" I slam my eyes shut and drum my fingers upon the arm of my chair. "I am quite all right. Besides, it would be rather less boring for you - you could give Briar a run while we eat."

Chelsea grimaces. "It sounds like a weird sort o' date."

I shrug expressively. "I am unique - one must take me as I am."

Watson gives her a small, apologetic smile. "Holmes is not inclined towards romance," he explains quietly.

Ha! How little he knows!

Chelsea sighs and nods. "OK, the beach it is."

The fresh air can only do the girl good. Lestrade is quite right in her observation - Chelsea does not look well. I suspect that the recent events have begun to affect her now that she is safe, for we human brings often do react in such a manner for some reason. Perhaps a change of surroundings will benefit her as well.

John assists Lestrade in packing a picnic basket with snacks while Watson and I quietly discuss our destination. I am rather hurt to learn that Chelsea has already visited our beach hut, while I felt that it would not be right to take Lestrade there. Well, I suppose that we had might as well all go there then. I have wanted to show my lady friend my favoured retreat anyway.


	8. New Hope and Renewed Courage

We do not bother driving to the coast. The monorail is much faster and it means that John and Lestrade can both relax. Indeed, we are all very relaxed - Watson and Chelsea are contentedly sitting together in much the same manner as they were when we joined them in Lestrade's apartment and my own lady friend and I are also somewhat preoccupied by our own contentment.

"Where're we going?" Beth asks quietly.

I smile and caress her hand with my thumb. "My favoured haunt, my dear."

She sits up with a start. "We're not heading for Sussex."

"Indeed we are not."

"No? I thought you said we're going to your favourite place. Just how many favourite places have you got?"

How can I explain? "This destination is rather special; it is not a place that I would share with just any friend or colleague."

Lestrade smirks at me. "How many secrets have you got?"

I shrug and look away. "I am a private man."

"Don't worry Sherlock," she squeezes my hand. "I'm not gonna pry - every guy should be allowed his secrets."

"Provided that they are legal," I add with a smirk.

She gives a relieved smile. "Well, yeah. Just so long as they obey the law."

I gaze out of the window to conceal a yawn. I am not going to permit myself to sleep now - this journey is much too short.

"Feeling OK?" the Yarder asks with concern.

I nod and conceal another. "Yes thank you. I am feeling much better."

She studies me carefully but nods. "That's good."

I always have felt drowsy while travelling - well, unless I was working and was far too busy to even think about sleep, of course - it is not unusual for me to be stifling yawns. However, we soon reach the quiet, Victorian seaside town and leave the monorail and its station, taking the short walk in the direction of the beach.

"I can see why you like it here," my lady friend remarks as she links her arm through mine. "It's like another world!"

I pull her in close to me with a cheerful smile. "You have not seen the half of it yet my dear."

Chelsea giggles excitedly. "Yeah, our guys know how to live Inspector."

Lestrade raises an eyebrow at me. "You're full o' surprises, aren't you?"

"I try," I respond with a shrug of my shoulders.

I have always enjoyed surprising those that are dear to me. Why else would I work so hard at my dramatics? Of course, I have gone too far now and then - my return from my hiatus could have done Watson some great harm and I have also sprung surprises on clients that I should not have done. I have learnt from those experiences, however; I am rather more mindful of others these days.

"Are you even listening to me Sherlock?"

I blink and shake my head. "Hum? Oh, forgive me," I respond as I carefully cast my mind back to her words. "A walk?"

"I was asking if you'd ever taken a walk on those cliffs. I bet you'd get quite a view from up there."

I gaze at the cliff at which she is pointing. "Yes. Would you like to go up there?"

"Yeah. If you're feeling fit enough."

These words are merely a red rag to a bull. "Of course I am! Let me just show you where our base camp is and then we shall set off."

"'Base camp'?" she quirks an eyebrow at me. "Strange term, coming from you."

I smirk. "One of Watson's."

"Yeah, I guess that makes more sense. So where are we going?"

Watson, John and I have put a lot of work into our beach hut since it was purchased. The peeling paintwork has been tended, both inside and out, and we have cheerfully decorated its interior with shells and driftwood from the beach. There are also some storm lanterns, as sudden mists and fogs have rolled in from off the sea on occasion.

"Wow!" Beth gasps as we enter and set down our things. "I love it! It's not what I expected, but it's very you."

"Thank you," I respond somewhat shyly. "We have put a lot of work into it."

She nods. "It shows."

"Would you like a cup of tea?" John asks as we (that is, those of us that have remembered or bothered to bring one) remove our coats.

Briar immediately holds up a paw and tilts his head to one side.

"Holmes, you have quite spoilt our dog," the robot informs me.

Briar turns his pleading eyes to me.

"Oh John! Just give him some. He was very good on the monorail, after all."

The fellow shakes his head and turns to Lestrade. "Should you ever have children, see that you discipline them," he advises her.

"I shall have you know that I am very firm with Briar," I speak up. "I simply fail to see why he cannot have some tea if he wants it. As long as he has behaved himself, naturally."

John has clearly mouthed something behind my back, because Beth laughs and Chelsea dissolves into a fit of giggles. Hum!

"Beth, would you prefer to walk now, or after we have had a cup of tea?" I ask somewhat abruptly.

She smirks at me. "Let's have some tea first. Then we can go take our walk."

The walk is somewhat tiring; I had thought that I had recovered more than this. It matters not, for I shall rest later, but I am somewhat surprised.

Beth smiles at me as we slowly amble along. Frequently we stop, admiring the view and listening to the birds that I remember from my youth. Not once does that smile leave her face.

"This place is wonderful Sherlock," she whispers as her hand finds mine. "Thanks for bringing me here."

I squeeze her hand gently. "My pleasure. Oh! Look Beth!" I point with my free hand to a little bird, which is singing at the top of its lungs while it flies high above us. It is almost too small and far off to see.

She shades her eyes with her hand and squints up at it. "What is it?"

"A skylark," I inform her. "They are quite remarkable; most birds sing like that while they are at rest, but those little birds only sing while they are in flight. Just think what stamina something so small would need - it would be like singing an opera whilst running."

She nods and draws closer to me. "That is impressive."

The two of us stand watching the bird until it changes its song and goes to ground. As we lose sight of it, so its song ceases altogether.

"Wow," my lady friend breathes. "I would've completely missed that if you hadn't pointed it out."

I shrug and avert my gaze. "I used to see a lot of them when I was young. Particularly when I was out on horseback."

"Is it hard? You know, horse riding."

"Not overly difficult; not if one is calm and gentle - as long as the mount is patient and friendly, of course," I study her from the corner of my eye. "Why do you ask?"

"Zed Sherlock! Don't pretend it's not obvious."

I give a hearty laugh. "I must confess that I miss the horses; I have always enjoyed working with animals."

"So I gathered. You almost work as well with Briar as you do with Watson and John."

"Hum!" I chuckle. "Briar cannot answer back, so I prefer him to our colleagues at the Yard."

She wrinkles her nose. "At least you don't have to work with the zed heads every day."

"Hum, touché Lestrade. There you have my utmost sympathy."

"Thanks Sherlock."

What is the matter? "Did you have an unpleasant shift?"

She shrugs and sniffs. "No worse than usual."

"What you need is a holiday my dear."

She snorts. "Like Grayson'll give me one."

Poor Beth! "Is there anything that I can do to help?"

"Yes!" she turns to poke me in the chest. "Rest up 'n' let yourself get better. No, don't laugh - I'm serious! You don't know how much of a weight off my mind that'd be."

"All right! Really Beth..."

"Really Holmes, you need sleep. OK?"

I nod and give a weary sigh. "Of course Nanny. Anything you say."

She wrinkles her nose again and glares at me from the corner of her eye. "Less o' the zedding lip, OK? Zed! Can't a girl worry about her boyfriend without getting hassle for it?"

"My apologies." But I am not very sorry. The truth be told, I rather like her annoyed expressions - they are terribly amusing!

I slip my arm about the Yarder and squeeze her close to me as we walk on. I am extremely happy and content - possibly more so than I have ever been. I never knew that a woman's presence could ever feel like this and now I understand Watson's desire to find an appropriate match for himself. I hope that Chelsea makes the old fellow feel like this.

When we reach the end of the cliff that juts out over the sea, Lestrade and I stand arm in arm, enjoying the view. There is a mist rolling in and its chilling tendrils surround us.

"Impressive isn't it?" she murmurs softly as she rubs at her bare arms.

"Indeed it is," I agree. "But you are cold my dear! Here, draw close to me."

Without even thinking about my actions, I pull her in close to me and enfold her in my cape. Oh! Yes, indeed she is cold! Her arms and hands are positively freezing and I can feel them chilling the fabric of my clothes as she embraces me beneath my Inverness. Her hands are shaking as well.

"You are cold!" I note with a grimace. "Why did you not say? We could have gone back had you wished it."

"I didn't want to go back," she responds with a shrug. "I've enjoyed myself."

And then she is gazing at me in a peculiar way and now my hands are shaking for a very different reason. I have never felt so nervous!

"Hey," Beth squeezes me, drawing closer still to me. "It's OK. It's only me Sherlock; I won't hurt you."

And then her lips find mine, as the mist encircles and surrounds us, obscuring us from the rest of the world. I know not what to do, but I would seem to be responding instinctively, for I have never kissed anyone like this before. It is both exhilarating and terrifying!

"I love you," she whispers as she rests her head at my shoulder, our lips having parted at last. "I never knew I could feel like this. I wish we could just stay here forever."

I am beginning to want to get back, myself; I do not like the way that our actions can so quickly progress while we are alone. I am beginning to understand John's disapproval of earlier, even if it was rather an overreaction at the time.

"What's wrong Sherlock?"

I sniff and grimace. "We should get back before we catch cold."

"Yeah," she nods and slowly releases me. "I guess you're right."

She knows that I am! I shrug off my Inverness and drape it about her shoulders.

"Zed Sherlock! You need this more than I do - you're tired. You'll get sick."

She is freezing cold and has no sleeves! Besides, it is only right that she should take priority. "I shall be all right Beth. It is not a long walk back."

She shakes her head with a sigh and draws close to me, wrapping her arm about me. "If you get too cold, say so."

"Of course," I lie.

We have almost reached the path that will take us back to the beach when I point out another skylark. Lestrade is just responding with words of appreciation when she gasps and points.

"Oh Holmes! Look!"

Right behind the bird is a rather menacing-looking hawk.

I laugh and rub my icy hands together with excitement. "We are going to have some entertainment now! Keep watching."

"I know hawks have to eat Sherlock, but that lark... Well, there are plenty o' pests that it could hunt instead."

I squeeze her arm. "Just keep watching. Remember what I said earlier about stamina? You will notice that that little bird is still singing loudly, despite having to fly as fast as it can. Does that tell you nothing? It should come as a warning to that bigger, heavier hawk - it may have a good burst of speed for a short while, but it cannot afford to keep it up for long. The lark however... well, you can hear it for yourself - it is still singing and seems not in the least tired. There we are! The hawk has had enough now; he shall find an easier target."

My lady friend gives a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank zed for that! That was... Wait! How the zed did you know that'd happen?"

"I have seen it before," I respond with a small smile. "A lark is hard for a hunter to resist - they are strong, healthy; they might come with a cost to the hawk, but the meal would be worth the price. Or so it would seem at first," I shrug my shoulders. "I have never seen a hawk catch a lark, but I have seen many try it. I do believe that a stubborn one would pay the ultimate price."

Lestrade gives a shiver. "Nature's cruel."

"Yes. Life is not fair my dear; it never has been."

"Let's get back," she suddenly begs of me as she steps awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Ah! Yes, the inspector is chilled and did not think to visit the washroom before leaving the house, as I did. I expect that she has indeed become rather uncomfortable.

I slip an arm about her without a word and guide her in the direction of the strange, wetroom boxes that are along the path from the beach huts.

"Where're we going?" Beth asks suddenly. "I really wanna hurry back Sherlock. I'm just about bursting for a pee."

I grimace. "Your body language made that quite clear. Fear not, this detour is for exactly that reason."

"Oh. Oh good. Sorry Holmes. It's just that..."

I nod and squeeze her shoulder. "There is no need for you to explain my dear." Goodness knows, I have felt like that often enough!

When we reach the horrid boxes, Lestrade takes to one and I step inside an adjacent one, for I would rather not have to step out into the cold again soon after returning from it, even if I do not currently feel a very strong desire to pay a visit.

The walk back does not take us very long. We are met by John and Briar when we reach the seafront and the four of us walk back to our little beach hut together.

"Your surface temperature is very low Holmes," the compudroid notes with concern. "I imagine you would like a nice, warming cup of tea."

If Heaven came in a cup, it would be a hot cup of tea. "Yes please John. A cup of your tea would be wonderful."

"Yes, I expect that it would Holmes. Are you feeling well?"

I nod and address him with a bright smile.

"If you are sure," he responds with a tone and expression that speak of frequent check-ups later.

I am surprised to find that Chelsea and Watson seem to find it much easier to behave themselves while they are alone than I have of late - and also somewhat disheartened. I must discuss this with Beth at some point, if I can only find the words.

"You are both cold!" Watson notes with dismay as Lestrade and I sit down close to the little stove. "Let me find some rugs. Here we are; wrap these about you. Oh! Bless you Holmes. Don't look at me like that - I know what I saw. And bless you again."

I sniff miserably and pull my rug closer to me. I am freezing!

"I did tell you not to give me your cape," Beth reminds me.

Surprisingly, John rounds on her. "Never mind blaming Holmes! You should learn to bring a coat with you - at least Holmes' outfit has sleeves."

I smirk at her from the corner of my eye.

"You can zedding can it Holmes."

Charming. I hunch my shoulders and attempt to draw closer to the stove with a poorly-suppressed shiver.

"Zed! I hope you aren't getting sick. Are you OK?"

I shrug. "I am tired, that is all. I am not feeling unwell."

She nods and studies my face with care. "That's good. I don't like it when you're sick."

"Neither do I. It is dull."

"Yeah, well, I don't like watching you suffer. Y'know?"

Yes actually.

"Did you have a nice walk?" Chelsea enquires, changing the subject. "Where'd you go?"

Beth and I tell of the walk along the clifftop, including the sightings of the skylarks and the hawk. Chelsea would appear to spellbound.

"I've never been up there," the young woman says. "When John took me here, it'd been raining and the path was all muddy."

Watson shakes his head. "Holmes and I have only been up there once," he tells her. "We usually walk Briar on the beach or amongst the dunes. And when we did, it was in the winter and there were only gulls and corvids in evidence." The fellow sounds a little jealous.

"You and Chelsea have both brought coats; why do you not go and see if you can spot one?" I suggest a little snappily.

"I think perhaps we will, before the mist becomes thick enough to send them to ground," the fellow agrees. "Would you like that my dear?"

John waits until my Boswell has left with his young lady before demanding to know what my snappy behaviour was in aid of. I am not quite sure how I should answer him; I am tired and cold, but that does not usually cause me to speak to dear old Watson in such a manner. What is wrong with me?

It takes me a moment or two to realise that I want to be alone with Lestrade and that I am both frustrated and unnerved. I am a gentleman! I should be glad that we are not alone, under the circumstances. I shall have to discuss this with Watson this evening, if I can pluck up the courage.

John shakes his head. "I have never before seen you in such a peculiar mood."

I shrug and sniff. "My apologies old chap; I am not myself today." Perhaps I shall feel differently once I grow accustomed to being loved... This is all very new to me after all.

Lestrade pulls me into the little conservatory settee in the corner and we curl up together, sharing our rugs.

"OK?" she asks as she rests her head at my shoulder.

I nod with a quiet sniff. "Yes thank you. Are you feeling warmer now?"

"Yeah. Thanks for giving me your cape; it was kind of you. I know you hate being cold."

I smile and draw closer to her. "I could not let you suffer like that. You were freezing!"

John tuts quietly and sets down two cups of tea on the coffee table before us. "When you lovebirds have quite finished, I have made you each a hot drink."

We thank him and enjoy our tea in a companiable silence while Briar jumps up and makes a space for himself between us.

"Have you got any biscuits?" Beth asks of our robotic friend.

"Yes actually," he responds cheerfully as he opens a tin and sets it down upon the table.

Lestrade takes one and dips it into her tea, causing me to inwardly cringe ever so slightly. That was not considered to be good manners in my era. She then eats the soggy half of the biscuit, dips the remaining half into her cup and presents that to the dog.

"I made those for Holmes, Watson and their guests," the compudroid huffs, folding his arms. "They are not intended for canine consumption."

Briar whines very quietly and Beth pets him. "He's a good dog John; I don't see why you have to be mean to him."

"Humph! I am not being 'mean'."

I smirk at him. "John is jealous."

"Really Holmes!"

I was only joking, but I cannot help but wonder whether there might be some truth in what I say. John does appear to be feeling threatened and insecure of late.

When Watson and Chelsea return, we pack up, shut up and lock the beach hut and make our way to a little restaurant that is very close to the monorail station for our dinner. The street lamps have all been lit by now and the fog is giving each light a halo that shimmers and shifts as the tendrils and swirls move in the cold evening air.

By the time we reach the restaurant, our clothes and hair are as damp as the night and we are quite chilled. I am going to want a brandy before I even think of food.

The restaurant is warm, pleasant and comfortable. It is rather like the country inn that Lestrade dragged me off to for lunch, but it lacks the clutter. I feel rather more comfortable here.

A double brandy later, I am feeling much better. My nose has ceased to bother me and the chills have been banished from my bones. I hum quietly to myself as I browse the menu. I am not in the mood for fish and am pleasantly surprised to find that this fine establishment has game on the menu. I shall have duck I think.

"Hum, Dover sole for me I think," Watson decides as he strokes his moustache. "With the seafood salad starter."

"I shall have a dish of oysters for my starter," I announce (I have never been able to resist those). "Followed by the roast duck. Well ladies? What would you like?"

Lestrade shrugs. "I don't know what I want. I'm not crazy about seafood and I've never tried duck. What're you having Chelsea?"

"I think I'll have one o' homemade burgers. The minted lamb one, maybe."

Ugh!

"Well, I think I'll have..." Lestrade smiles. "I'll have a curry. And for a starter, I'll have some breaded mushrooms."

"And I'll have garlic bread," Chelsea adds.

"I shall put the order in, shall I?" John volunteers.

I shake my head and grasp his arm. "No, a waiter shall take our order in a moment. Stay seated."

The fellow settles quietly and the five of us begin to chat quietly. Chelsea wishes to hear of some of the adventures that Watson and I have shared together and we both suggest that our robotic friend entertain us with a take or two, explaining that he knows the events better than either of us can probably remember them after all this time.

Our storyteller soon settles into his role and tells of a case that does not tend to be dramatised. He does indeed remember the case better than I do and I listen quietly, allowing him to refresh my memory, as we eat.

After dinner we return to the monorail for our journey back to London. I am tired but full, content and among good friends. I can even see that Chelsea is becoming friendlier toward John - perhaps this is due to his pleasing tales over dinner - and that does make me feel a little happier in her company in turn.

When we reach New London, we see Lestrade and Chelsea into a taxi and then John, Watson and I take the next one that comes. For the first time since my Boswell started walking out with his young lady, I am feeling excited and looking forward to the future as opposed to dreading what is surely to come.

I am never going to be truly alone again.


End file.
